The Telmar Trilogy, Vol 3: The Legacy of Telmar
by KartheyM
Summary: Peter and Susan have graduated. The family is older, moving on-Susan in particular. Peter, Edmund, Lucy and Melanie gather for a last night at Ketterley House. But Aslan still calls Melanie to Telmar; how much has changed? (Also features an appearance by some "new" familiar characters!) *Please Read & Review! :)*
1. Chapter 1: The Chess Set and the Tree

_**Chapter 1**_

" . . . And it is with great pleasure that I am able to present to you _the Graduating Class of 1949!_"  
A rousing cheer went up from the crowd. A great weight seemed to drop from Peter's shoulders as he stood after that long ceremony. He grinned hugely as he looked behind him for his family and saw Melanie jumping, clapping, and waving for him.  
How much she had changed from the pale, pathetic, terrified creature they first met! She had become a regular part of his life as easily as a coat-rack.  
_And as silent as one, too, _Peter thought to himself.  
He was not five paces away when Melanie, unable to contain herself, ran forward and threw her arms around Peter. He laughed and returned the hug, his long robe fairly swallowing the petite girl. Lucy joined her at Peter's side, then Edmund, and soon the whole family gathered in a congratulatory group hug. When it was over, Mr. Pevensie took the opportunity to congratulate his son in a more masculine manner—a handshake. "I'm proud of you, Peter."  
Peter nodded, "Thank you, sir."  
By this time, the rest of the family was on the way back to the auto. "Hurry up!" Lucy called over her shoulder, "Maybe we can reach Demark Hill in time to see Susan!"

Susan! Peter felt a tug at his heart. For six long years after her absolute denial of Narnia, Susan spent an increasing amount of time with fellow student Benton Northwyn. Peter tried once to confront him on his impropriety with Susan, but the arrogant, knowledgeable young man had reassured him at first, but then defended his actions, and at the last discussion, Benton had turned downright patronizing! Susan, of course, did _not _appreciate this "interference," when she heard of it, and felt free and independent to confront Peter about it.  
Ever since that day when she defined maturity as rejecting Narnia, she had become very fixated with everything else "grown-up": parties, shopping, lipstick, and boys. Poor, temporally minded Susan! Even Lucy, her one-time confidant, was not fully aware of the circumstances, only that she rarely heard two words from her sister any more.  
The Pevensies arrived at Demark Hill just as the principal ended his speech. Melanie's quick eyes saw Susan first, and she grabbed Edmund's arm and pointed.  
"There!" he cried for everyone else's benefit. They all began waving and cheering.  
She didn't appear to even notice them, though Peter saw her glance their direction and deliberately turn away.  
"Who is that boy?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, as they saw her smile and run to catch the arm of a tall, dark-haired young man.  
Peter sighed. "Benton Northwyn," he answered his mother, "he's a school-mate."  
His mother noted her son's face and raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I see."

A small noise at Peter's side caused him to look down. Lucy was making a valiant effort not to cry. "She didn't see us," the young girl murmured, "she didn't even notice us." Peter put an arm around his little sister. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.  
"Peter, will she ever come back?"  
Peter knew Lucy meant "back to the house," but it struck him how that question could mean—on a deeper level—"back to the family."  
The quadrangle stood bare now. Peter sighed again, "I don't know, Lu."  
Melanie looked back and saw Lucy about to cry, and her compassionate heart melted. She tapped Peter on the shoulder.  
_Can Edmund and Lucy come stay at our house?_ she signed.  
Peter shook his head. _Our time there is almost finished. We need to start moving our things out._  
_Please? _Melanie persisted, _just for one night! It would be so much fun!_  
Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie stood by watching this exchange with obvious interest. Peter turned to them.  
"Melanie wants to invite the kids for a sleep-over, just for tonight."  
Lucy's face transformed; she wiped her tears away as her face glowed with excitement. Edmund grinned, too.  
Mr. Pevensie shrugged. "One night? I see no problem with that."  
Melanie anxiously watched the group until Lucy turned to her and signed, _Yes._The two girls jumped up and down, Lucy squealing and Melanie clapping her hands.

They only needed a quick stop back at the Pevensie house to pack a small carpetbag with clothes for one night, and then it was on to Ketterley House!

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Chapter 2

Peter threw himself on the sofa the moment he entered the house. He was worn out completely from the long day!  
Melanie, on the other hand, fairly dragged Lucy and her carpetbag up to the girls' room, and ran back downstairs to prepare supper.  
After everyone had eaten, Susan still did not arrive, and the skies poured rain. Melanie and the Pevensies reclined around the cheery hearth, discussing what game they wanted to play. Edmund faithfully translated everyone's words into signs for Melanie. He had become quite adept at it, and Melanie appreciated his thoughtfulness.  
Lucy at once suggested a Narnian game, but the boys disagreed.  
"Why don't we play something from our world first, and then we can play something from Narnia," Edmund said.  
Peter thought for a bit. "I seem to recall Mrs. Mandrow mentioning something about an old chess set in the attic. Someone will have to get it."  
Edmund finished this last remark for Melanie, intending to look for it once he finished, but the faithfully servile girl was on her feet requesting the electric torch almost as soon as she understood the need.  
You do not have to, Edmund tried to explain, I can do it.  
Melanie would not let him. She insisted on receiving the torch. She wanted to go. Edmund—seeing there was no way around the dutiful girl—finally yielded and gave the torch to Melanie.

The deaf girl quivered with excitement as she ascended to the second floor, down the short, narrow hall, and up a tiny, narrow flight of stairs to the attic.  
The attic at Ketterley House proved to be a place not often frequented by anyone other than mice, rats, and spiders. A thick grey mantle of dust covered everything, thus making the few objects in the room nearly indistinguishable from their surroundings.  
The beam from the torch reflected on something, and Melanie froze. A shiny black spider nearly as big as her palm cowered in its web right in front of her face. When she shined the light on it, the spider immediately crawled away, leaving Melanie to destroy its web and proceed in peace. She crept forward cautiously, her head just an inch from the low ceiling.  
In the near back corner she saw a flat, square object with the merest hint of checkers underneath he dust. Gently, Melanie brushed away the dust to reveal a chessboard with a burlap bag (presumably containing the chess pieces) atop it. Melanie picked up the bag and hung the drawstring around her wrist. Carefully, she moved to pull the chessboard out of its place.  
Too late she noticed the stack of hatboxes resting on one corner of the board. The whole tower teetered and collapsed all around her. Melanie dropped the torch and the bag and covered her head with her hands.  
When all was finally still, Melanie looked to where she dropped the torch. It occurred to her that the beam now pointed to an odd variation in the wall where once stood the stack of boxes.  
Melanie's scalp prickled with curiosity. She cautiously made her way into the corner, chess game forgotten, and pressed on the variance. She felt it give slightly. Encouraged, she felt around the edged until she found a board that protruded enough to pry back with her fingertips. The whole section scraped outward like a small door.  
Melanie nearly had to curl into a ball to fit through the opening. She crept through the door and into a dark tunnel. Only then did she remember the flashlight, but there was not enough room in the tunnel to turn around for it, so she had no choice but to proceed without it. In the pitch-darkness she could see a small patch of light ahead, so she fixed on that and crawled forward one step at a time. Melanie noticed that the tunnel was strangely clean when compared to the dust and cobwebs in the attic, but before she had time to wonder about this, she reached the patch of light. It was shorter than she originally assumed, but by sliding down onto her face, she could slither through the opening.  
Melanie was about halfway through the opening, when her sensitive fingers felt a sensation they ought not have: grass. Warily, she continued forward until she was fully outside the opening.  
She slowly made her way to her feet and looked around. She turned back to the opening she had recently exited.  
"A tree," she remarked—and heard herself say it!  
Melanie grinned. Tree or no tree, she knew only one place she had ever been where she could hear and speak.  
Lady Melanie had returned to Telmar.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	2. Chapter 2: The Giving House

_**Chapter 3**_

With a laugh, Melanie walked out onto the road to see if she could identify where in Nast she was, but as before, she did not recognize the terrain she saw.  
Melanie saw deep-rutted roads and dilapidated farms; in many places there were dry, barren trees and fields. She remembered her lessons on Telmarine history of how, two hundred years before she first arrived, there had been a nationwide famine. It certainly looked like the beginning stages of a famine here. Could it be she had gone back in time?  
Melanie looked toward the sun, shining just behind her; it had recently passed its zenith, and begun its descent. Melanie figured it to be about three o'clock in the afternoon. Since the sun was behind her, toward the sun would be west, and the direction she now faced was east. She faced the sun. North—the direction she knew she needed to travel to reach town, was on her right hand. She looked up and down the road on which she stood, searching for a northbound lane. She saw one a ways down, conveniently marked by a strange hut-like building. Melanie approached this house curiously.  
A cleverly painted sign above the door identified the establishment as a "Giving House," illustrated for the illiterate by a picture of a woman giving food and cloth to a man.  
Melanie smiled. A giving-house! Why, she had written out plans for giving-houses before she left! Perhaps she had not gone back in time after all, but forward. Perhaps the "early famine" she witnessed was only a bad year for crops.  
Melanie walked inside.  
"Good day t'ye!" a cheery voice called as she entered.  
"Good day," Melanie returned, scanning the shelves and crates for the items she needed.  
The girl to whom the cheery voice belonged, a happy, round-faced redhead, came out from the corner where she had been restocking the shelves.  
"D'ye have aught to trade?" she asked Melanie.  
Melanie shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that—"  
The girl waved away her words kindly. "And a fine givin' 'ouse this'd be if we didn't give things fer free! _Daen't _ya fret about it; take what ye likes!" The girl gestured generously around the shop. She then turned back to Melanie and peered at the girl's face. "Ehh, just when Ah thinks Ah knows me patrons, a new face comes trapsin' in the door. What's yer name, lass?"  
Melanie finally found what she was looking for: a hooded cape. As she fastened it around her neck, she began to reply, "Mela—" she stopped mid-answer, deciding suddenly to keep her identity a secret, at least for the present time.  
"Well, Mella," the girl said, "M'name's Satchelle, and I'm much obliged to make yer acquaintance."  
Melanie smiled at this talkative girl. "Tell me, Satchelle," she said, "Where are you from? I know by your voice that you are not Telmarine."  
Satchelle laughed. "Aich, no! Very nearly, but not a full Telmarine. Ma grandfather immigrated from the Nairth near fifty years ago, and we've lived here ever since."  
"How long have you owned this giving-house?" Melanie asked, for one of her ideas had been for the proprietors of the giving houses to also own them.  
"This house was given to my grandfather by auld Laird Steward, Sir Taurin himsel'!" Satchelle announced proudly.  
"And has it had good business?"  
Satchelle shrugged, and just at that moment, a young boy dashed into the house and began grabbing things off the shelves.  
"'Ere noo," Satchelle cried in her thick Northern accent, "Brion! Where be ye ga'ng like a roosh o' mad dogs w's on ye?"  
Brion—the young boy—did not cease his movements, but fished in a back corner, drew up a basket, and dumped his armload into it.  
"Aich, Satch!" he cried in the same queer accent, "I only just finished ma work in the fields, an' Mammy Figg needs her delivery afore the service!"  
Satchelle clapped a hand on Brion's shoulder, halting the boy. "Well, then, Naslan grant speed t'yer limbs, but ye do the watchin' o' yer 'ead, young scalawag!" She released the boy and let him pelt away. "An' daen't ya be late fer the service, neither!" she called after him, "Naeboody catches young Satchelle wi'oot her broother, y'hear?"  
"I'll foind ya by the Outskirts, Satch!" Brion hollered back to his sister.  
Satchelle shook her head and chuckled. "That boy! He's the only family I have left, dontcha know, Mella. Yet see what I let the harum-scarum do?" she gestured after the distant figure in mock despair.  
"Who is Mammy Figg?" Melanie asked.  
Satchelle gave her characteristic shrug and began tidying up the whirlwind mess her brother left. "Mammy Figg? Ehh, she's one o' them ancient folks, as can't get to neither market nor giving-house; nae family, neither. I suppose y'might say Brion has adopted her, and brings her food and whatnot every day after he's done in the fields."  
Satchelle moved to put the last apple in its place, but thought better of it and handed the fruit to Melanie. "Here; the lad's bruised this'n. It won't last till tomorrow. You're lookin' 'ungry; ye kin eat it on the way into town."  
Both ladies left the building. Only then did Melanie realize what had made the little house look so odd before: the building had no door. Even the windows had no shutters. The entire thing was made of clay bricks covered with plaster.  
She noted this mysterious lack to Satchelle, who nodded unconcernedly. "It's a giving-house, meant to give things; why would it need a door?  
"Though," the girl sighed heavily, "there's more folks nowadays as would rather use these houses as _gettin'_-houses, and once they get it, they get _oot _w'oot sae much as a word." She smiled ruefully, "Wi' such a prattler as I, ye canna wonder how _lanely _'tis fer me!"  
Melanie cocked her head at this strange word, unsure if she heard right. "Lanely?" she echoed.  
Satchelle blushed. "Aich! Ma fonny accent, that's what 'tis! Gets me inta trouble a'times! I meant I get awful . . ." the poor Northern girl tried to conquer her accent in that one single word, but failed. "I get . . . _lanesome, _as wi' naeboody around!" she cried. Ye must know, Mella, I am enjoying mysel' the likes as I've never, talkin' wi' ye, and ye not makin' fun or getting' angry over ma queer way of puttin' things!" She looked at Melanie with an expression so starved for acceptance that Melanie's heart immediately went out to her.  
"Chat away then, dear girl!" Melanie cried. "Tell me about Naslan. What is he?"  
Satchelle's face glowed. "Why, he's the Lion in the Temple!"  
Melanie didn't have to work very hard to appear convincingly stunned at this reply. "You have a real lion in your temple?" she gasped.  
Satchelle laughed, "Nay, not a _real _one! Naslan is a great big bronze statue, wi' a golden 'ead! Sae beautiful ta look at, ye canna believe!"  
Melanie felt very confused, and showed it. "So, Naslan is a bronze statue?"  
"Aye, lass, that he is!"  
The warmth of this reply made Melanie even more discombobulated. "But, earlier you said to Brion that you wished Naslan to give speed to his limbs. How can a statue do this?"  
"Aich, that I canna answer, miss. I daen't understand much the ways of the Temple-people. 'Tis just something we say, y'know, 'Naslan grant us one thing or another,' 'Naslan preserve us.' I daen't rightly know what it means, but I say it all the same."  
The young lady happened to cast an eye over her shoulder. "Ah, and here cooms Brion the Fleet right now!"  
The pound of running feet and the sound of panting breath, and Brion caught up with the two ladies.  
"I wist ye've been pinin' fer me all the whilst ye didn't have me, dearest sister of sisters!" he told Satchelle cheekily.  
She mussed his hair, "Nay, ye little beggar's-brat! I was just tellin' Mella here that we ought to stop an' thank the Naslan ye warn't 'round to torment us with your high winds!"  
Yet as she said this, her pretty blue eyes shone with love.

Satchelle and Brion glanced at the road ahead, and sobered instantly. Both siblings moved to either side of Melanie and took her arms, protectively.

Melanie gazed up at the sight that elicited such a reaction from her new friends.

"What _is _this place?" she gasped.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	3. Chapter 3: The Outskirts

_**Chapter 4**_

Mangy, starved animals crawled around mangy, starved people. Foul smells wafted from the sodden, littered streets and from the dark, dank shanties on either side of the street. Melanie could tell that the buildings were the ones she once knew, made of plastered brick, several stories high, with wooden stairs and ladders to access the various levels.

Now, parts of the wall were worn down to the bare brick, and in some places even the brick had worn through. The stairs and ladders had worn and broken down. Sodden heaps of garbage dotted the streets. Everywhere screamed of disrepair, and not a few alleys echoed with the cries, screams, and moans of their occupants.

Satchelle sniffed at these heart-wrenching sights. "'Natural deterioration' they call it," she remarked wryly. "Them's just fancy words for 'not my problem'!" She turned to Melanie. "This be the Outskirts, Mella. You'll be wantin' to stay near Brion 'n' I. They are no' a very kind people in these parts. We'll see you safe through here. Oy! Leave off, now!"

This last she spoke to a particularly pathetic heap of garbage that was not garbage itself, but a young boy _dressed _in garbage! Satchelle reached an experienced hand around the cowering Melanie, and batted the boy's grasping, grimy paws.

Satchelle's shouts drew the Outskirters like cockroaches out of their holes and into the street.

"Ay, lookeer!"

"Oy, there'sa purty-one!"

"Jest see 'er cringe!"

"Aye! Don't ya wanta curl inter a ball, wench?"

"Let's rush 'er!"

So saying, the whole crowd rushed upon the wide-eyed, terrified girl.

Melanie froze in terror.

"Now for it, Brion!" Satchelle threw here arm around Melanie on one side, and Brion did the same on the other side. With their guest thus sandwiched between them, the siblings made their way out of the pressing throng.

Just when Melanie was beginning to fret that they would never make it through, Satchelle and Brion released her onto a cobblestone street.

"There y'are, Miss Mella! Safe 'n' sound, and not a pretty hair 'armed!"

Melanie expressed her thanks just as Brion cried, "Look out!" and pushed the two girls to the side of the road as a large, heavy wagon thundered on the narrow street they had just navigated.

Melanie glanced back anxiously. What had become of all those people in the street?

To her horror, she saw that, though many of them had escaped harm, there were a few poor souls not so lucky against the heartless wagon as their comrades. These unfortunates now received help from others, but Melanie saw one form—a girl—who lay perfectly still in the filthy lane. It did not occur to Melanie why this child remained in the road until a woman—the girl's mother—ran screaming to her pathetic figure. "Oh! My child! Oh my darling! My baby!"

With such cries, the distraught woman knelt in the putrescence next to her daughter and lifted the pale, limp body onto her lap. Rocking back and forth, the mother wailed, "_Why?_ Have we suffered enough? My baby! My baby!"

The intense, communal camaraderie in the Outskirts displayed itself in the way its inhabitants immediately gathered around the woman and her dead child, comforting her and adding their cries to hers. Melanie stood rooted to the spot in horror and astonishment. Here was support and kinship she had never seen even in the well-ordered community of New Telmar. She had never even factored it into her social reform plans. Yet as she watched the "garbage-dwellers" come together in a time of loss, a time of need, she realized the inestimable value of compassion.

She was so struck by this concept that Satchelle fairly had to pull her away down the street and into the Square.

Once she set foot in the town square, Melanie soon forgot the thought-provoking sight in the street of the Outskirts. Verily, she couldn't even hear their howling wails above the cacophony filling her ears.

If the Outskirts had convinced her she was in a later year, the Square seemed to display the opposite. Where Melanie had left only _one _merchant guild, under heavy (she thought) restriction, here now before her was a whole Square-full of the odious breed, loudly hawking their wares with more abandon than she had ever seen even on her first visit to the City. The whole Square was awash with color, clamor, and so many scents to confuse every physical faculty! Melanie clung tightly to Brion and Satchelle as the stalwart young lady completely ignored the myriad jewels, clothes, foods, and spices thrust at her in her determination to reach her destination: the Temple.

As they neared the Temple, less people prevented them, as most of the crowd at that point streamed into the Temple. Melanie almost did not have time to see what the Temple looked like, even in the dim light of dusk. She glimpsed tall spires that overshadowed even the castle, fanciful gargoyles, and other statues before entering a gilded hall that led to an enormous sanctuary.

"This way," Satchelle instructed, leading Melanie to one of the low benches forming a square with two aisles, surrounding the huge platform on which stood the Naslan himself, in all his bronze-and-gold glory.

"Mella!" Satchelle hissed, startling Melanie from her admiring stupor, "Y'must kneel on the bench, like this!" The practical girl demonstrated, and Melanie copied as Satchelle whispered more instructions, "Then y'must put yer 'ands together, like so," Satchelle pressed her palms together and raised her eyes piously.

Melanie was about to do likewise, when she caught sight of an old man in a flowing white robe moving to the center of the temple, right in front of the huge bronze Lion. For the first time, Melanie saw just how many were these "devout Telmarines." These ones filled the massive room; they were people from all walks of life (excluding the foreign merchants, who did not believe in the Naslan, and those from the Outskirts, who were despised by everyone). Every last person had their hands clasped and their eyes raised in the same attitude as Satchelle.

Melanie nudged her companion. "Who is the man in the white robe?"

Satchelle's eyes never left the ceiling as she replied, "'Tis Grammon, the Grand Priest; now, hush! He's about to give the Petitions! Speak only as I do!"

Thus began one of the strangest services Melanie had ever witnessed. She watched Grammon, wondering words this little man would speak, and how he would make himself heard.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	4. Chapter 4: The Service

_**Chapter 5**_

Grammon's first call removed Melanie's wonderment completely.

"COME, YE FAITHFUL, AND WORSHIP THE LION!"

Melanie, Satchelle, Brion, and all the people responded, "_We worship the Naslan!"_

"MAY WE NEVER FORGET THE GREAT NASLAN!"

Again, the crowd replied, "_Yea, may we always remember!"_

"MAY HE COVER YOU WITH HIS BREATH!"

"_Oh Great Naslan, cover us!" _

"MAY HE ANSWER YOUR PETITION!"

"_Oh Naslan, hear our prayer!"_

"MAY YOU WALK WORTHY OF HIS CARE!"

"_Oh Naslan, grant us your favor!"_

"MAY THE NASLAN WATCH OVER YOU!"

"_Great Naslan, lead us on the right path; guard us from evil ways and men!"_

"MAY HE GIVE YOU HIS BLESSING!"

"_Oh Naslan, bless us this day!"_

"MAY HE RECEIVE GIFTS FROM YOUR HANDS!"

"_Inexorable Naslan, receive our sacrifice!"_

Once this peculiar call-and-response finished, two assistants brought in the animals for the sacrifice: two he-goats, and a strong bull.

"Ooh, now for the sacrifice!" Satchelle whispered.

Melanie took advantage of the delay to turn to her new friend and ask, "What are the Petitions for?"

Satchelle looked puzzled. "They're for the service of course!"

"What does it mean when the priest says, 'May you walk worthy'? How does one walk worthy of the Naslan's care?"

Melanie meant it as a simple doctrinal question, but to look at Satchelle's face twist in confusion, it was clear she thought it a poser! "Well . . . to be sure, I s'pose, it means y'must make sure that when ye travel, y'must see to it that yer feet are always sure o' themselves!"

Melanie was shocked at this answer. The simple-minded young lady thought that "taking the way of the upright" was making sure you always had firm ground under your feet!

"Satchelle," Melanie said as Grammon's assistants finally approached the altar (shaped, Melanie noted, out of stone and in the form of a table), "what about when he says 'May you never forget the Naslan,' and you say, 'yea, may we always remember'? What must you remember?"

Poor Satchelle was in a quandary now! "Well! I never saw such a girl for questionin'! Why, it's to remind us to come to the next service, of course!"

This display of a total simplicity floored Melanie. She sat in miserable silence as Grammon finished ceremonially slaughtering the sacrifices.

Suddenly, amongst the pitiful lowing and bleating of the animals, Melanie heard the deep, sonorous voice that never failed to thrill her ears.

"In their ignorance, they have ceased to truly worship Me."

She looked toward the voice, on her left, but the person who seemed to speak had a cloak like hers, pulled so low she could not see his face at all. He spoke again, "You must tell them the truth about Me."

Melanie's heart jumped at this. "Me? Stand up in front of all those people? I am a stranger here, and what would I say? Besides, how can I tell the truth about you when I don't even know who you are?"

The hooded man sighed, and Melanie felt his breath, and smelled its wonderful aroma.

"Do you not, Child?"

Melanie's eyes glowed. "Aslan!" she gasped happily.

"I have given you the words to speak, Child," he said, "go quickly!"

Without a second thought, Melanie jumped to her feet right in the middle of the service.

Grammon had been in the middle of giving some sort of oration, when a cloaked figure rose to his feet and advanced upon the pulpit.

He stopped mid-sentence, recovered his decorum, and said sanctimoniously, "What do you need, my son?"

Instead of answering, the hooded figure merely turned to the dead-silent crowd and began to speak.

"People of Nast, hear me!"

By the Lion! The voice was that a woman! Grammon stepped back and listened as she continued.

"Why do you do this? Why do you sacrifice bulls and goats to a statue? You are a faithful people indeed, but do you not know this is mockery to the one you profess to serve? Can bronze hear? Can gold breathe? Who then hears your petitions? What then breathes upon you when you ask Naslan to 'cover you with his breath'?"

Melanie pointed to the statue behind her, "You set up before you a statue of a lion, but who is to say that Naslan is a lion? What if I were to tell you that his image ought to be that of a bull? Would you still sacrifice bulls to a Bull? What if I told you he had no form at all? How can you make an image of a formless thing? Do you know him you profess to serve? No, you do not; that is why I am here, to tell you of the one whose world you live in!

"His name is Aslan, and he is the Great Lion, the High King above all High Kings, Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea! He made this world of Narnia, and he made this land, with the express intent that your ancestors—men from another world—would seek refuge here and find it. They would seek to dwell here, and find it a good land.

"Yet, even as the world stood barely formed, a Son of Adam, ancestor to the kings of Narnia, brought Evil into the new world. Since this blood of Adam runs in your veins, you too are incriminated in this ancient act. You, too, have the blood of evil in you, evil that seeks to turn away from Aslan, to rebel, to do only that which pleases itself, with no consideration for its neighbor!"

Such a murmur of conviction went up among the crowd! Grammon was stricken in his heart; never before had he heard such words! This woman seemed to be speaking the words of the Lion himself!

"Men of Nast, why do you sacrifice? Do you know? Does Aslan eat the flesh of bulls and drink the blood of goats? No! Let me tell you the meaning of the sacrifice: this evil blood that flows in your veins now is payment for a debt you owe, a debt of rebellion and lawlessness. By blood you are connected to the Curse of Separation from Aslan, and by blood also must this debt be paid, and your souls be absolved."

Melanie paused as she saw some men visiting from another province, grinning at each other and nudging each other as if to say, "Hear her put those Nasties in their place!" She pointed to them, emphasizing her next words, "Hear me! I speak not only to Men, but also to Women, and to Children, and to every Telmarine, Archenlander, Westerner, Calormene, and Narnian who hears my voice!

"Yet even then it is not I who speak these words to you now, but it is Aslan, who desires to make himself known to you. Truly, I could not speak unless he willed it. He has sent me before you now to tell you of your guilt. How would this debt of blood you inherited from your ancestors be paid, if not with the blood of every man, woman, and child, from Telmar and the Western Wild all the way to the lands yet uncharted in the Great Eastern Sea! Tell me, how is it to be done? I say to you, even if Death came upon every living creature, man or beast, and their blood filled all the oceans and covered the land, still the debt would not be paid."

She could see the look of horror on most faces, and sought to reassure them,

"Take courage, though! For do you still not understand what I am saying? If Aslan desired blood, could he not slay us all, who are subject to him? People of Nast, it is not blood Aslan wants! He desires a relationship with us; he wants our faith, our trust, and our love.

"He does not want death! For Aslan himself, who knew no evil, who knew no guilt, who owed no debt, paid our debt with his own blood, giving his life for us all! In dying, he _fulfilled _Death, and Death cast him up again, and—Citizens of Nast!—Aslan LIVES!"

She stretched out her arms to the spellbound crowd, eloquently beseeching them.

"Brothers and Sisters, I call to you all! Tear down this foolish idol! (for indeed, it is foolish to worship a piece of bronze when you ought to be worshipping the Lion!) Repent of your wickedness, your cruelty, dishonesty, greed, and pride! Aslan is his own self. You do not need an image to worship him! He is worshipped when you seek to give of yourself to others in remembrance of how he gave his very life for you all! Believe his words, learn of his ways, and follow his example! _Hail Aslan!"_

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	5. Chapter 5: Revival

_**Chapter 6**_

By the end of the speech, the entire crowd was on its feet, wailing, begging, "What must we do?"  
Melanie could not make herself heard above the crowd, but she tried anyway.  
"Tear down this false image! Believe in the one True Aslan!"  
All her cries did no good; the only person to hear her was Grammon. Perhaps, though, this fact saved the situation, for the old priest, galvanized to action by the truth he heard, and by the spirit of Aslan empowering him, cried louder than the din,  
"MEN OF TELMAR! HELP ME!"  
He grabbed the nearest tool—the sacrificial knife—and whacked off the gilded tail of the lion-idol. The people understood his intentions immediately. Soon, the statue was surrounded by zealous men belaboring it, breaking it, chipping and twisting the dexterous artwork. Melanie worried the crowd would crush her, but someone grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the enthusiastic crowd.  
It seems there were many (perhaps a hundred or more) who could not even get close to the crowd tearing down the statue.  
"Good pilgrim," they asked Melanie, "what can _we _do?"  
Inspired by Aslan, Melanie replied, "The whole city must know the truth! Go forth and proclaim the good news everyone to your neighbors!"  
She gestured to the open door of the temple, and the whole throng excitedly exited en masse. In a very short time, there were so many voices shouting the news about the True Lion that even the boisterous merchants could not be heard. Some "zealots" stood in each corner of the market and cried aloud, hoping to draw a crowd, while others looked for their friends who had chosen to remain in the Square shopping rather than attend the service. The night sky rang with the name of Aslan.  
As more and more people heard and believed, they stopped their transactions, and either listened or were motivated to preach themselves.  
The merchants could see their business slipping away. Even some of their own comrades were so distracted by these believers that they stopped selling and haggling to listen to the unique message. A few of those who listened came under such conviction that they promptly returned the money they collected, and began giving their merchandise freely. Others who heard were so intent on continuing to make a profit in spite of these missionaries that they stopped their ears with cotton and continued hawking their wares. Many of the merchants were so frustrated with the competition that they simply cleared up and left Nast.  
Melanie watched all this from the steps of the Temple. With Aslan to guide her, perhaps sharing his truth was not so difficult as she originally thought.  
The men charged with dispatching the idol presently came pouring out of the Temple, adding their voices to the others. Melanie peeked into the sanctuary. Grammon and his assistants swept up the dust from the floor. The huge idol was no more than baskets of bronze and gold nuggets neatly stacked before the altar.  
When Melanie emerged from the Temple once more, a hand clapped her on the shoulder. Melanie looked up into the face of a brawny, stern soldier.  
"This is the one," he told his men. Instantly, two guards seized her arms and followed their commander in the direction of the castle.  
Their forceful manner frightened Melanie. She could hear a herald behind her in the Square telling the people to quiet their cries or go home. Melanie chanced to hear a few voices trying exuberantly to convert the herald before she was too far away to hear anything else.  
"Why are you taking me away in this manner?" she asked the guard, but they neither spoke nor looked at her. Wordlessly, they cast her into a holding cell—a small room with only a bed and a small table—where she would wait till the following morning to learn her fate.

As soon as the morning sun shone through the small window at the top of the holding cell, the stern, silent soldiers returned to bring Melanie into the castle.  
A sense of familiarity washed over her when they entered the main hall. She knew the shape of the room, but how changed it all was!

Back in Melanie's time, (for she had come to realize for certain that she had come back some years later than before, though precisely how many years she couldn't guess), the masonry showed through, simply covered by rugs on the floor, carpets in a few places, and many huge paintings and tapestries on the walls. Now, she saw, the walls had been plastered over with cement and painted, and carpets replaced the rugs, so that the setting looked more like a mansion one would find in England, and not so like a medieval castle.

The captain of the guard led Melanie and her "escorts" past her old bedchamber, to the massive ballroom Melanie had never used. She gasped as the captain himself grabbed her by the cloak and dragged her through the huge doors.  
His boots echoed loudly on the marble floor in the large room. The captain cast Melanie down as someone commanded, "Report, Captain!"  
"I've brought your insurrectionist, Milord," she heard the captain say.  
Milord! Could it be—? Melanie kept her thoughts to herself as the captain finished his report.  
"This heretic disrupted the peace during the service of Naslan. She has torn down the idol of Naslan which your father commissioned, and turned the Square from a peaceful marketplace to a site of wanton pandemonium!"

The Lord Steward glared at the crouched, hooded figure at his feet. "Stand up! Are you inciting a revolution, stranger?"  
The figure obediently stood. "It is not a revolution, your Lordship, it is revival."  
The hooded stranger tipped her head back slightly, but did not uncover. The Lord Steward heard her gasp.

"You are not Sir Taurin, nor are you like him enough to be his son!"

He answered, "Nay; I am Martan, son of Melonni, son of Taurin, the first Lord Steward of Nast." He looked sharply down at the stranger, "I am ill-used to being so free toward an accused rioter. Who are you?"  
The stranger threw back her hood. Her dark hair draped loosely over her shoulders, and her dark-blue eyes blazed. With a loud voice she cried out,  
"I am Lady Melanie, heir of Lord Fausberg and rightful Regent of Nast! Now, Steward, I demand a full account of your dealings with my land!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	6. Chapter 6: While You Were Gone

_**Chapter 7**_

At this startling announcement, the nobles and advisors of Martan's court leapt to their feet. The captain of the guard blanched with fear at the realization that he called the true heir of Nast (and the person who legally held his life in her hands) a heretic.

Martan reeled in shock. So _this _was Lady Melanie! She was the one Grandfather Taurin wanted his son and grandson to always remember! She was the young girl in the old legends of Nast who supposedly called down terrible judgments on the old merchant clans that once plagued the city. She was also the one Taurin waited forty long years for, because he loved her and none else.

When Lord Steward Taurin began to grow very old, still waiting for her return, it took every one of his advisors and nobles to convince him that if he did not marry, his line would end, and the Lordship would pass to another. Taurin was heartbroken at Melanie's absence, but at long last he came to terms with the low probability of seeing Melanie in his lifetime.  
He sent searchers out forthwith, scouring the land for one as near resembling Melanie as they could find. A girl named Pollah, with sparkling blue eyes and brown curls, arrived at the castle, and she became Taurin's wife. Their marriage was a happy one, and produced Taurin's heir, whom he named Melonni in memory of the woman now standing in his grandson Martan's court.  
Lord Steward Martan immediately leapt from his throne and knelt before his lady. A simple wave of his hand, and all the nobles in the room followed his example. Melanie blushed modestly at the respect shown her.  
"Rise and report," she said, fighting to recover the composure more befitting her as the one in charge.  
Martan stood instantly and gave the history of Nast since Melanie's strange disappearance.  
It seemed Galor, the unscrupulous merchant, in spite of all the regulations Melanie imposed on him, found and contrived so many loopholes that he fairly ran the ill-prepared schoolmaster—Sir Taurin, the first Lord Steward of Nast—into a corner. Taurin found himself unexpectedly forced to allow Galor to bring more men into the market. One thing led quite deliberately into the next, and soon the market was full again, this time of clans all related to Galor's guild, instead of competing guilds as of old. Thanks to Melanie's reforms, though, the merchants could no longer control the currency as they used to, and trading was done more fair and equitably. It was not entirely communal, and some goods were traded for less than their value, but it was a step in the right direction.  
Melanie was pleased to discover that Taurin had found all her notes she had made before for a reformed Nast, and it was in these notes that he had found a jotting concerning a Temple in which people could gather to worship Aslan.  
Taurin immediately began laying out plans and setting aside materials for the Temple, when who should appear but the Lion himself! He commended Taurin for the man's devotion, but informed him that it was not Taurin's place to build the Temple. Rather, that honor would go to his son.  
Taurin willingly accepted this, and began refining his plans, making them very detailed and specific with the full knowledge that this would be left for his son.  
So caught up was he in planning for the Temple, that he forgot about telling Melonni about the Lion until it was almost too late.  
When Melonni was still a young boy, the elderly Taurin developed a speech impediment that manifested itself in the form of an "n-"sound between two consecutive vowel sounds. Therefore, "the apple" when old Taurin said it, became "the napple," and when he tried to speak to his son of "The Aslan," it came out sounding like, "The Naslan."  
Before he died at the age of ninety, Taurin admonished his son to always be faithful to "The Naslan," and to seek the Lion's guidance in every decision, every day. Melonni promised this to his father, and Sir Taurin died, leaving Nast in the hands of his son, who became Lord Steward at thirty years old. Melonni fell in love with a woman from the merchant clans and married her. They had a son, whom they named Martan.  
Just as Aslan told Taurin, Melonni took his father's plans and built the Temple. It took twenty years. About the fifteenth year of the reign of Lord Steward Melonni, his wife entered the room to find her husband pacing the room with an intense, angry expression.  
"What doth trouble my lord?" she asked.  
"Nothing troubles me, my love," Melonni replied, pausing in his activity to smile at his wife, "I am only seeking the guidance of the Naslan."  
"Ah, yes, you have spoken to me of this Naslan before. Tell me, husband, if you are seeking guidance of a deity, oughtn't you abject yourself in a more respectful position?"  
Melonni sighed and threw himself on the couch behind him. "I have tried that, but unless I keep moving, other thoughts distract me and I cannot focus on the Naslan. I feel when I pace, that I am more actively engaged in seeking something, rather than sitting and waiting for it to come to me, as I feel when kneeling or sitting."  
Melonni's wife thought for a moment, and conjured up a solution for her husband. "Consider, Milord: if you were to have a small model of the Naslan made, and set it up on the table here. Then you can prostrate yourself before the _model _of the Naslan (or at least kneel as you would before a higher authority), and the model will help you focus your thoughts because it will be as if you are truly speaking to the Real Naslan."  
"I don't know," Melonni responded, "that might look as if I am worshipping the model of the Naslan instead of the true Lion . . ."  
His wife waved away his concern. "Who is watching, that they would construe it that way? I am the only one who knows of your beliefs, and I have enough faith in you myself to know that my husband is not given to idol worship, like most of my own people! Why do you not try it, and test its effectiveness?"

So Melonni ordered a metal-smith to make the model, and he tried focusing on it and speaking to it as he would speak to the Naslan. He didn't feel half so awkward worshipping that way. In fact, the method was so effective that, when the Temple was finally finished five years later, he directed that a huge model of the Naslan be made, and set on a high platform in the very center of the sanctuary, the place his father originally designated as a place for the real Naslan to stand when he taught the people, if he ever would. Melonni explained what he knew of the Naslan (which was not very much, but decent enough in its own right) to the people, and told them the correct way to view the model, not as a deity itself, but as a temporary reflection of the true Lion. The people understood this, and as the worship of the Naslan spread to all the farms around the City, people flocked to the Temple, which they regarded as the only place to truly worship the Naslan. At first, many believers got it mixed, and thought that the True Naslan was only a statue. Melonni presided over the first worship service, assisted by a zealous young man named Grammon, who became the first priest of the Naslan. Melonni made it unmistakably clear that the statue was a statue, and the True Naslan was the True Naslan, and that one should not be confused for the other. After that service, there were still a few who held to the old belief that the statue was divine, but this view was not often supported by the general public opinion. Such people who thought inanimate objects could be divine were regarded as silly by their neighbors.  
"My father was seventy-two when he suddenly collapsed on a hunting expedition in Beren Wood. He died soon afterwards, and I became Lord Steward of Nast," Martan finished. "Nast remains in debt as she ever was, and not much else is worth reporting, Your Ladyship."  
He took her hand with a suddenness that surprised her. "There is something I would like to know, though," he said. "You have led the people of Nast in a revival," he looked her straight in the eye, "now lead their lord."  
At this invitation, Melanie willingly told Lord Steward Martan the message of the True Naslan.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	7. Chapter 7: The Note

_**Chapter 8**_

"Thank you for telling me all this," Martan said sincerely when Melanie finished. "Now, please permit me to conduct you to your chambers." He offered his arm, just as Taurin used to do, and Melanie accepted it.  
He led her back down the long, carpeted hall to the familiar, ornate doors. From his tunic pocket he produced a large, heavy key on a gold chain. It took some pushing, as if the lock was old or rusted, but the young lord eventually unlocked and opened the door.  
He bowed low and said, "Enter, Milady." Melanie did.  
She gasped; this was her parlor! Everything was exactly as she left it, except it was all covered in dust and extremely aged.  
"It's as if no one has touched this room in over a century!" she remarked to Martan.  
He said sheepishly, "Actually, that's very true. After you left, Grandfather Taurin ordered this room and the bedchamber locked, and decreed that no on may enter the room for any reason until you return. He removed the regal chambers to another room across the hall." Martan watched the young woman wander about the room, and saw her stop and finger a hole in one of the pillows on the couch. No doubt that pillow had been new the last time she saw it. "We have been waiting a long time for you, Lady Melanie."  
She entered the bedroom, stunned and overwhelmed by the revelation. "I have been gone _one hundred years_?" she whispered to herself.  
Martan coughed. "I will leave you to dress, ma'am. Once you do, I would be honored if you would join me for the evening meal."  
Melanie nodded, dismissing her steward.  
She wandered about the huge bedchamber in much the same stupor she had wandered the parlor. Memories came flooding back of the last time she was in this room. She looked to the small table where she remembered setting the box of jewels, but the box was not there.  
Her eyes examined the massive bed. The rich fabric of the coverlet was falling apart with obvious age coupled with neglect. The metal scrolling on the headboard was dull and tarnished. Melanie crossed over to the wardrobe, now losing its varnish in many places. To her astonishment, the dresses inside were still intact. She wondered how this could be possible as she slipped one of them on and replaced her cape.  
The mere feel of the fabric on her skin brought back the old stirring, the long-forgotten emotions, and by the time she strode back into the parlor, she was fully Lady Melanie once more.  
A familiar growl by the window caused Melanie to turn and cry gleefully, "Aslan!"

She threw her arms around his great golden head. "Thank you for all you've done here," she told him.

"You have made my name known among the people, and before their leader, my Child," the Lion said. "The time has come for them to witness my power."

Melanie gazed at the Lion with wide eyes of wonder as she felt chills running the length of her spine at his words. "What will you do?"

Aslan turned to leave the room, "You will know soon. Come, let us go to the Lord Steward."

Melanie happily joined Aslan in the hallway, burying her hand deep into his rich, golden mane.

The guards at the door to Martan's court started and trembled in fear at the sight of the enormous Lion, but when they saw the smile on Melanie's face, they relaxed and opened the door for them.  
Martan and his court were no less astounded than the guards were when Melanie and Aslan entered, but Martan recognized the Lion and immediately knelt before him.  
"Lord Aslan," he said, "I am your servant; what would you have me do?"  
Aslan bent down and licked the top of Martan's head in a Lion's kiss.  
"It is good that you call me Lord in faith, not having seen any sign, my son," Aslan said. "Rise now and assemble the people in the Square. Tonight, _all_ shall witness my power."  
Stunned, Martan immediately called a public gathering. There was some confusion as the night-market had just begun, and soon the market was too full for selling or buying, and people wondered what on earth the Lord Steward meant by calling a gathering so late at night. Martan silenced them all with a wave of his hand.  
"People of Nast!" he cried, "This lady now standing next to me was among you yesterday. She has led you all in exposing the grave error we have made concerning the Great Lion, whose name is Aslan.  
"I hereby decree that the worship of the Naslan shall cease, and there shall be no more models of Aslan made, but we shall worship him for what he is: himself! The Temple shall hereafter be used as a meeting-place to learn of Aslan, the True Lion, not only in the evenings, but also at any time during the day!  
"Finally, my people," he continued, silencing the cheers that erupted at the last statement, "it is with great pleasure that I present to you the true leader of Nast. I, as you know, am only the steward of Nast. People of Nast, we have waited one hundred years for this return, and now bear ye witness! I present the Lady Melanie!"  
Melanie stepped up to the balustrade where everyone could see her. The whole crowd cheered, and Melanie distinctly heard a familiar voice cry,  
"Lion alive! It's Mella! Daen't she look fine now, Brion?"  
Melanie smiled at the people and waved her hand.  
"People of Nast!" she cried, "You recall how I told you of Aslan, and beseeched you to follow his ways and his example. Now, behold, Aslan himself has come among us, and he desires to redeem the oppressed, to free those in bondage, and to heal the sick!"  
Aslan moved forward and the whole assembly cried out at the sight of him, some in joy and some in fear.  
"Bear ye witness of his power!" Melanie said.  
Aslan shook his golden mane and sounded out one long, loud Note.

To those who believed and were faithful, that Note seemed to seep with a delicious warmth into the very center of their being. The lame felt new life in their limbs, the eyes of the blind were opened, the ears of the deaf unstopped, and the tongues of the dumb loosed.  
To those who had set their hearts against Aslan, however, this Note cut through their hardness life a beam of light in the dark. They covered their ears, they ran to the inmost places of their sumptuous apartments, but still the Note persisted, penetrating, cutting, and exposing. There was no help for these people but to leave the country altogether, and they did. Every cruel man, dishonest merchant, and arrogant noble scrambled for the nearest border. The throng of faithful ones moved to the center of the Square as Aslan's enemies poured out from their buildings, holes, and booths; running, running, desperate to escape that awful, ringing, deadly Note.  
As soon as they set foot across the border of Nast, the Note stopped, but when some of them tried to return, the Note seemed to begin as soon as they set foot across the Nastian border, it began again. From that day forward, none of that group or their kind ever set foot in Nast again.  
Aslan finished the Note, and the crowd cheered, "_Hail Aslan!"_

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	8. Chapter 8: Walking With The Lion

_**Chapter 9**_

After dismissing the crowd, Martan led the group back into the great hall, and turned to Melanie.  
"Milady, if I could make a request, now that you are Lady, will you allow me to remain here at the castle until I can find a suitable apartment?"  
Melanie furrowed her brow in confusion. "What? You are leaving, Milord?"  
Martan shook his head, "Nay, since you have returned, the line of Lord Stewards is dissolved, by the order of Sir Taurin, and I am no longer called 'Milord,' only Martan."  
Melanie raised her hand, "That being the case, I hereby dissolve the dissolution of Sir Taurin as my first act as the returned Lady Melanie, and you are reinstated as Lord Martan. You and your descendants may maintain residence in this castle, and the position of Lord Steward shall remain until my death! So say I!" She grinned, "Does that answer your request, Lord Martan?"  
He looked at her with an awe-filled expression, "But you are more qualified to rule than I, on account of your experience!"  
Something occurred to Melanie. "Martan," she said slowly, "exactly how long have you been Lord Steward of Nast?"  
The young man looked sheepish. "I have been on that throne for two years, since my father died, but I confess I've been little more than an occupant of the throne."  
Martan's insistence on leaving the castle reminded Melanie of another person, so long ago, who had been just as desperate for her rule, and his secret reason for such desperation.  
"Martan," she asked, "If I sent you away, is there another occupation you would rather have, but your status as Lord has prevented you?"  
Martan flushed awkwardly. "Well, y'see, Father ceased waiting for and expecting you when it came time to decide my education. He always treated me as if I would be Lord Steward after him. I learned about Nast and its laws, but all my tutelage took place here at the castle, from books and philosophers and such. Father intended to show me the province and teach me how to be a leader himself directly after his hunting expedition," Martan's voice grew very quiet, "only . . . he never quite returned, you know."  
Melanie watched the young man, feeling the heartbreak of losing a dear one as she recalled old Lucasta. "Then . . . palace life is all you've ever known, is it?"  
Martan nodded, "It's been my life from the day I was born. I have studied many skills, but I knew of nowhere to apply them in trade."  
Melanie smiled empathetically, "All the more reason we ought to rule together, if I must be Lady again. I know the people, you know the palace, and we both know Aslan. We will balance each other out."  
At this suggestion, Martan turned to Aslan, who had been waiting and listening silently all this while. "Aslan, sir," he said, "may I make a request?"  
"Certainly, my son; ask whatever you will."  
Martan took a deep breath. "I . . . I want to rule Nast the _right _way," he said. "All the previous Lords have ruled to glorify themselves, and set themselves up as law, and this land has suffered for it. I would . . . I want . . ." Martan dropped to his knees, "Aslan, I want _you _to be glorified in my rule. I want you to be my leader."  
"Rise, Lord Martan," said Aslan, "and hear me: you have chosen wisely, and your insight has gone far beyond that of other Lords who are accustomed to leading many people. Therefore, Nast shall thrive because of your decision." He turned to exit the room. "Come with me, children," he said.  
Melanie and Martan obediently followed the Lion down the halls and stairs until they reached the palace gardens. Here, he stopped.  
"I will be here in the garden every morning. If you truly desire to be led by me—"  
"We do, Aslan," both Lord and Lady said together.  
"—then you may meet me here at the sixth hour, and we will walk and talk together. Will you agree to this?"  
Melanie and Martan thought hard about this. The sixth hour of the morning was earlier than either of them was accustomed to, but such was their desire to follow Aslan that they chorused, "We will, Aslan."  
The Lion nodded, "Then we will meet tomorrow." He walked softly between two nearby trees and disappeared.

The next morning, Melanie and Martan awoke early and ran to the garden. As he promised, Aslan stood underneath a tree at the front of the garden, waiting for them. They walked and talked with him for an hour, and came away glowing with the joy of spending time with Aslan. For a whole week they rose early to seek him, but one morning, Martan forced himself out of bed and into the hallway, where he usually met Melanie, and they would go to the garden together.  
Melanie was not there. Concerned, he knocked on the door of her bedchamber and called her name. "Melanie?"  
She did not answer. He poked his head inside the door. He could see her body as a lump beneath the covers. "Melanie?" he called, "It's time to meet Aslan." He knew she had been up late, entertaining a few of the ladies from the town, but she had asked him to waken her if she did not meet him.  
"Melanie?" he said again. The lump on the bed moved, and Martan heard her groan.  
"Coming . . . coming . . ." she murmured.  
Martan went back out into the hall to wait for her. He sat down on a bench and leaned against the wall.  
It seemed only a moment later that he jumped up at the sound of a bell. What was it, an alarm? No! It was the cook ringing the breakfast bell!  
Martan jumped to his feet as Melanie burst out of her room, looking as if she had leapt from bed into her dress, and still combing her hair. "Breakfast?" she muttered, "how can it be time for breakfast?" She spotted Martan rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Why did you not wake me?" she demanded.  
Martan stammered, "But-but I did! You said you were coming."  
Melanie furrowed her brow. "I did? I don't remember you even coming in. Did you go out to meet Aslan anyway, without me?"  
"Well . . . no, but—"  
Melanie threw up her hands, "And now we've missed him, and it's all your fault!"  
Martan stood defensively, "Now, just one moment! I at least woke up this morning, which was more than you did!"  
The fight continued, lasting all day long. It seemed Martan and Melanie suddenly could not agree on anything, and fought and argued all day long. Neither one wanted to accept any blame for missing the morning's meeting. As Martan told Melanie before they retired for the night, "I tried to make the best of today, but _you _went and made the worst mess of the day!"  
Melanie slammed her door against his sharp words. What had happened? She realized that when she tried to counterfeit the attitude she felt when meeting with Aslan, it was like trying to replace stones with paper: it was never as strong under pressure.  
The next morning, she awoke early enough to be ready for the meeting, but she still harbored bitter feelings toward Martan. She did not wait for him.  
When Melanie reached the garden, she saw Aslan waiting by the tree with his back toward her, and she felt her heart clutch with guilt at her anger. She couldn't face Aslan, not with yesterday's actions and choices, and certainly not with the attitude she had now! Melanie heard Martan's familiar footstep, and she silently climbed the tree next to her. Martan could meet Aslan; Melanie was sure he was in a better mood than she was.

"Good morning, Aslan," Martan said.

Aslan turned and looked at him. "Let us walk together," he said, as he always did.  
Martan gave a little start of surprise, It was as if yesterday's meeting had happened like always! Aslan never said a word abut it, but I am sure he knew he didn't need to; Martan's own conscience proved sharp enough.  
"I'm sorry, Aslan," he said, "About . . . yesterday."  
Aslan stopped just below the tree where Melanie hid. "I was here yesterday, just as I promised. Why did you not join me?"  
Martan sighed. "Well, you see, I awoke in time, but Melanie had entertained guests last night, and she did not awaken—"  
"What concern is it of yours is Melanie's decision? Why would that hinder you, my son?"  
Martan cocked his head toward the Lion. "You mean . . . I _could_ have come alone?"  
"Yes."  
"Well, I see now that I made a wrong choice. Please forgive me, Aslan."  
"I forgive you, my son. Do you then understand how you knew the choice was wrong?"  
Martan pondered for a moment. "Yes, I do; everything went terribly, and we made wrong choices, and quarreled all day long. We need this time with you because it allows us to become better acquainted with your perspective."

By now, Melanie's conscience put her in such a state that she could not hold still. She silently climbed down from the tree. Martan looked up in surprise, and Melanie looked down in shame.  
"Melanie," Aslan said, "You were here this morning; why did you hide?"  
Melanie sighed and bit her lip. "Because I was . . . I was afraid. I felt unworthy because of my bitterness."  
"Why would that prevent you from coming?"  
Melanie looked up, startled and a little confused. "Well, because I thought you didn't want us to be angry or bitter."  
"That is true, but when you speak of unworthiness, child, do you not recall all you have learned about worthiness? Who has dictated that you must have all your problems solved when you meet me in the mornings? I accepted you as my child in your supposed unworthiness, and just as I made you clean then, I can make you clean now."  
Melanie sighed, "Oh, I wish you would! I am so burdened with all the wrong I've done. I overslept because I entertained guests rather than preparing for the morning as I ought to have done. Then I tried to hide my guilt, and to make decisions without consulting you, and everything was terrible. Moreover, when Martan tried to correct me, I answered him sharply, and this morning when I came to meet you, I was still angry, and it made me ashamed." She fell on her knees before Aslan. "Please forgive me for being so awful!"  
Aslan lowered his head and kissed her. "You are forgiven my child; take courage in being able to confess your wrong by name, for then it will not become so much a part of yourself that you cannot identify it."  
Melanie stood and turned to Martan next. "Martan, I want to apologize for—oh, for everything yesterday. I was a fool; will you forgive me?"  
Martan nodded.  
From then on, neither part forgot the meeting with Aslan.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	9. Chapter 9: Sending Out The Delegates

_**Chapter 10**_

After breakfast one morning, Melanie brought up a suggestion she'd been mulling over for quite some time.  
"Lord Martan, I have seen the success of the giving-houses, and the way they work so smoothly among out own people. Besides, even in these few weeks since Aslan drove the merchants out, the market has become the trading-place I always wanted it to be."  
Martan looked up at Melanie with arched eyebrows. "There's a plan at the end of this, I know it. Very well, you've begun nicely, Lady Melanie, now finish it!"  
Melanie chuckled. "Well, all right then, here it is: what if we took half of the surplus apportioned for the giving houses, and divided it into five parts, and sent five delegations into the other provinces, to give away the produce and goods for free? It would broaden our horizons, and make an affirming national impact!"  
Martan's expression did not show the support Melanie was looking for, and he did not leave Melanie in suspense for long.  
"I can give you numerous compelling reasons why this quaint idea of yours would simply not work: First, you recall the reputation Nast has had since the olden days."  
Melanie frowned. "You mean, the old saying, 'It's no good if it's Nastie'? Don't tell me it's still the national consensus!"  
Martan nodded ruefully, "I'm afraid so, at least among the nearby provinces, I'm not so sure about Sordell and Telami." He rolled his eyes, "and that abominable Outskirts only serves as a reinforcement of the deplorable opinion.  
"My second reason: I'm sorry, Melanie, but it's just not fiscally possible. Have you seen the farms?"  
"Well, yes . . . some of them, but—"  
"Then you know the condition of the majority of farms in Nast. Last year's harvest was barely enough to feed ourselves, much less for trading in the marketplace. We even had to close down some of the giving-houses, for lack of surplus. Planting season was very bad, as well. I am glad you—ah, _Aslan_—drove away the merchants, else we would have probably incurred debt with them in addition to the debt we still owe the other provinces!"  
"Martan," Melanie chided, "have faith! I'm sure Aslan would approve of the formation of giving-delegations! How about this: we wait two months, till the harvest, and if there is enough, we will take it as a sign that it is Aslan's will to send out giving-delegations. Would you give your permission to this?"  
Martan signed and shrugged. "Well, you _are _my superior . . ."  
"Oh, stop it!"  
"Very well; _if _there's a good enough harvest (which I doubt), we will send out your delegations."  
Melanie sat back with a triumphant smile, "Thank you, Milord."

If the harvest was a sign of Aslan's pleasure, it would seem the Lion was well pleased indeed with Melanie's plan.  
At just the right time for sprouting, every farmer in Nast looked out his window and saw little green shoots settled like neat rows of green snow on the ground. The spring lambs grew into strong, healthy sheep with fine, thick wool, and the cows gave plenty of good milk. Melanie received reports of these with immense pleasure.  
One day, about a month before harvest, the captain of the guard came in to announce that Grammon, the Great Tutor (as he was now called, being no longer a priest of Naslan), requested an audience with her.  
"Send him in," Melanie said."  
The old man entered the court and bowed low to the ground.  
"Rise, Master Grammon," Melanie said, "What is it you wish to say?"  
Grammon stood. "I come on behalf of the people, Milady. They do not seek to learn about Aslan as at first. Now, they come desiring to know more about you."  
Melanie looked at the old teacher in surprise. "They want to know about me? Whatever for?"  
Grammon hesitated, "In your Ladyship's private ear . . ."  
"Yes, you have it, go on."  
"There are many people who believe that _you _are the Spirit of Aslan, Milady. They believe that you were the one who drove the merchants out in the form of a Lion, and word has spread that because we chose to believe in the Aslan, you are rewarding us with a good harvest!"  
Melanie's mind whirled at this startling piece of news. "Grammon, I tell you most certainly that I am no more supernatural than you! You must tell everyone the truth about Aslan. Put a stop to this superstition immediately!"  
Grammon bowed, "Yes, Milady; I will begin at once."

Once Melanie got the whole mess straightened out, the harvest was nearly ready, and it was time to appoint the delegations.  
Melanie called together the fifty artisans and farmers living on the farms around Nast, and divided them into five delegations of ten people each. Before sending them out, she told them her expectations of them.  
"Each of you will go to the five other provinces of Telmar: Puriva, Eveston, Sordell, Venna, and Telami. Stay as a group and travel to as many markets as it takes to distribute all your goods freely. You are to take _no _money or form of payment for them, and you must continue traveling around the province until your wagons are empty."  
"But Milady," one of the farmers asked, "What if we are beaten? What if the other Telmarines refuse to accept what we offer simply because it is from Nast? What if they try to kill us?"  
Others chimed in, but Melanie raised her hand and received instant silence.  
"Citizens of Nast—farmers and artisans, all! You forget whose you are! From whom have we received this bountiful harvest?"  
The farmers hesitated until an old weaver spoke up, "From Aslan."  
Melanie nodded. "If Aslan can make such fruitfulness from barren ground, can you not have faith that he will so much more protect you, who are all infinitely more precious than all the harvest in the world?"  
She sat back, satisfied with the grateful expressions on the faces before her. "I shall _eagerly_ await your reports, which you must give immediately on your return. Aslan be with you all!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	10. Chapter 10: The Delegations Return

_**Chapter 11**_

Nearly a week after the delegations departed, Melanie and Martan sat at breakfast when a servant announced the arrival of the first delegation.  
"Escort them into the great hall!" Melanie ordered.  
Such a bedraggled group met her eyes! Many bruises, a few black eyes, cuts and scrapes, and a few even had broken arms or legs. Melanie received them graciously.  
The "head delegate," a potter by the name of Jord, bowed (carefully, on account of his bruised ribs) and announced, "We went to Puriva, as you sent us, Your Ladyship."  
"At the first few markets, we were completely ignored. In the third one, we met with minimal success, but in the name of Aslan, we persevered, just as you instructed us. Many merchants, when they found we were from Nast, beat us away from the market, and spoiled all our goods. We did not think we could continue on, but we have returned, our wagons are empty, and, by the Lion, we are in one piece! Hail Aslan!"  
Melanie clapped her hands enthusiastically, "Well done! I will see that my personal doctor attends to all of you."  
The Purivian delegation bowed and left. Melanie turned to Martan, "You see? Perhaps this won't turn out so very terrible after all."

Two days later, the delegation to Venna returned with empty wagons and downcast faces. Their leader reported:  
"We were teased and mocked at every market we saw. We were not harmed, but that was because no one even wanted to get near enough to touch us. We were ever mindful of your orders though, Milady, and we purposed to persevere until we could find _someone _willing to accept our food.  
"We had been traveling for four days, and still no one would accept our offerings. We knew our food would begin to spoil if we could not give it away, so we prayed to Aslan to lead us to someone who would take our food."  
Melanie listened with wide eyes, "What happened then?"  
The man shrugged. "We were passing a farm where the farmer was out mucking his pigsty. He asked us who we were, and what we were doing, and when we told him of our dilemma, he offered to take al the food! At first we were grateful, but immediately on receiving the produce, he carelessly threw it to his pigs! We reproached him, but he shrugged and told us _that _was all it was good for, because it came from Nast! The indignity we suffer, Milady!"  
Melanie smiled sympathetically, "Such indignities will not go unnoticed, my friend. Remember that Aslan had to suffer indignities for our sake, too. Tell me, how did you dispose of your other goods?"  
"We traveled in the furthest villages from the marketplaces, where there were many infirm and elderly who could not go to market, or they could not afford the wares sold there. _They _accepted goods from our hands willingly enough!"  
"Excellent; it is exactly why I wanted you all to go! Consider the size of the other provinces, the number of markets they have. Their wealth has made them forgetful of others, and if citizens of their own province do not come to the aid of the poor, who then shall look after them? It is _we _who must show them Aslan's love, not only to the poor people who receive us willingly, but to the farmers who think ill of us as well.  
"Well done, good farmers! Please partake of a banquet I have prepared in your honor."  
She gestured to the massive table, and the delegation accepted their Lady's unwarranted hospitality graciously.

That very evening, the delegation to Eveston returned with their empty wagons, unscathed and looking quite pleased with themselves.  
"Hail, Lady Melanie!" the leader began, not knowing that two other delegations had arrived ahead of him, "I am pleased to report that we have carried out your orders with little or no opposition. Verily, when the people heard the goods were free, they were only too willing to forego spending money on useless trinkets and receive more practical things from us!"  
Martan was surprised at this man's boldness. "How can this be? What did you say to the people that made them so receptive?"  
"We merely told them that we offered goods and produce at no cost, and they welcomed us."  
Melanie sensed a lie concealed in the half-truth, and sought to bring it out by asking, "And when they asked you where you came from, how did you reply?"  
The pompous delegate's eyes immediately dropped, and he tried vainly to raise them. "I—ah, we . . . That question did not often come up, so—"  
"How did you respond?" Melanie persisted.  
The man was so ashamed, he could not answer her, so Melanie immediately deduced what it would have been, and said it herself. "I think the question came up more often than you will admit. You either avoided it, or perhaps you reassured your customers that you were not from Nast." She frowned upon the guilty crowd. "Why are you so ashamed of the one province in Telmar who knows Aslan? Is the Great Lion so capricious, that he would condone generosity and dishonesty in the same breath? You _have _given everything away, but you did so by deception. You did not obey my orders with honesty. You are dismissed, for I have nothing more to say to you."  
They filed out of the room, completely cowed.

When the delegation to Sordell returned the next day, Melanie received them eagerly, hoping that their empty wagons and happy smiles had been earned honestly.  
The appointed leader reported, "We gave our things freely in the market, just as you commanded, Milady. We are pleased to report that not all of Telmar has such a low opinion of Nast."  
Melanie feared a reprise of the previous night, but kept her expectations and assumptions in check and merely prompted, "Indeed?"  
"Yes, Your Ladyship; In the markets we went to, the Sordellians were kind to us, even when we told them we were Nastians. Look, see?" To Melanie's secret chagrin, he brought out a silk bag full of money, saying, "Even though our merchandise was free, many people insisted on donating these monies to paying Nast's debt, and also as a reward for our kindness!"  
The delegation wondered at the consternation on Lady Melanie's face as she said, "And you did not refuse them? Oh dear! Aslan rewards those who do right, but not with fame and riches! In accepting this temporary reward, you may have foregone a more lasting reward from the Lion himself! Would it not be much better to wait, knowing that Whose world this is will give you a reward proportionate and eternal, than to accept paltry trinkets instead? I thank you for following my orders, but you may have done wrong in accepting the money. Give the bag to me, and I will inquire of Aslan the best course of action. You may go."

Melanie grew very concerned when three more days passed, but the last delegation, the one to Telami, did not return.  
Martan feared the worst had befallen them, that they had been arrested, or even killed. Perhaps the Lord Protect even now circulated a ban on Nastian products venturing outside Nastian borders.  
Finally, one week after the return of the Sordellian delegation, a page entered the great hall with the news that the Telamian delegation had just arrived.  
They were starved, and bruises showed on their faces, but they had not gotten those from the markets in Telami! They carried out their Lady's orders fully and honestly. It was when they tried to return to Nast with their empty wagons that they received their wounds. The Telamian guards let the delegation leave that province, but the guards on the borders of every other province seemed loath to let the Nastians through. They were forced to travel under cover of night, and could not travel at all during the day, which is why they took longer than any other delegation. They were rewarded for their efforts by many kind and comforting words from Lady Melanie.  
When the Telamian delegation had left the court, Melanie turned to Martan. "Well, Milord, how has our project fared in your eyes?"  
Martan replied reluctantly, "Rather like I feared. It may take forever for Nast to be rid of her terrible reputation, if Aslan wills we should be rid of it at all!"  
Melanie shrugged, "I think he does will it. I believe, Martan, that we shall see the tide of fortune change its course at Aslan's paw within our lifetime. If there is one thing I have learned from Aslan, it is that we must be content to wait for him in such matters."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	11. Chapter 11: Repairing The Outskirts

_**Chapter 12**_

Once the harvest was put away, and everyone's thoughts began turning to winter preparations, Martan came to Melanie.  
"Your interactions with the delegations have turned my mind toward my people like never before, Milady. I have always considered myself, without a care for the province I'm supposed to lead. Now I would like to know: how should we prepare Nast for the winter?"  
Melanie met Martan's sincere face with a serious one.  
"There are the Outskirts, Milord," she said in a low voice.  
Martan's brow furrowed in confusion, "The Outskirts? What about them?"  
Melanie was shocked, "Has Your Lordship ever seen them?"  
"No; Father never spoke of them, and whenever I needed to leave the City (which was not often), it was always in a closed carriage. Frankly, I don't see why they should concern me, if they existed during Father's time and he never did anything for them!"  
"But they are under your rule, are they not?"  
"Well, yes, I suppose so, but—"  
Melanie silenced him by taking his hand. "Then I think it is time you took stock of your jurisdiction, Lord Martan."  
She led him to the stables, where she ordered the preparation of an open carriage. It soon arrived, and when they were inside, Melanie told the driver to use the alleyways to leave the City, to avoid disrupting the marketplace.  
Once they had exited the vicinity of the Square, the driver slowed the carriage.  
"Why do you tarry?" Lord Martan demanded, "Drive on!"  
The driver turned and looked at him with obvious fear. "But, Milord . . . it is the Outskirts!"  
Martan raised his eyebrows, ostensibly in contempt for the carriage-driver's cowardice, but Melanie noted the tension in his jaw testifying that he shared the driver's sentiments.  
He concealed his feelings, though, and said roughly, "Good man, I am perfectly aware of my surroundings. I command you, drive on!"  
The coachman shrugged and drove the horses on into the littered streets.

Martan's mask of composure melted at the stench wafting from the area, and he gawked askance at the inhabitants of these rampantly dilapidated holes in the walls. He reluctantly reminded himself that these—creatures—were just as much "his people" as the more affluent citizens to which he had become accustomed.

Melanie gazed in pity at the sorrowful sights. Most of the Outskirters were so shocked at the two people in the fancy carriage actually going slow enough to watch them that they did not crowd the carriage, but moved out of its way. They moved faster still when they realized that one of the people was their own Lord Steward!  
As the driver threaded his way down side streets and back toward the castle, Melanie looked to Martan. The young man was deeply impacted by what he saw.  
"Those," he croaked, his voice so heavy with emotion that it was barely a whisper, "those are my people . . ."  
"They are, Milord," Melanie replied gravely.  
"But why . . . how is it that the Outskirts have fallen into such degradation? Why do those people not choose to take better care of themselves?"  
"Because you give them no reason to," Melanie said suddenly.  
Martan cast an arrogant glance in her direction. "I? You are blaming _me _for that? I had nothing to do with it!"  
"Tell me, Lord Martan, how did you merit your position? What did you do to earn that lordship?"  
"Well, nothing; I came to it by birth-right."  
"If you came to it by birth-right then you are not required to do anything to maintain it, because it is naturally yours, correct?"  
"Yes; Melanie, I wish you would tell me—"  
"In a moment, Milord. If you came into the position by birth, and are not required to do anything beyond that which pleases you, why then do you not?"  
"Melanie, we agreed to follow Aslan's will, to glorify him in our rule."  
"Why is it your desire to please Aslan?"  
Martan, thoroughly frustrated, sighed, "It is out of gratitude to his gifts to me and his love and forgiveness! _Now _will you explain yourself, instead of interrogating me with strange questions?"  
Melanie smiled, "Yes: you asked a while earlier why the Outskirters have never bettered their position, and I told you they had no reason to do so. Consider: you, like your father and your grandfather and every other Lord of Nast, have ruled for yourself, and done things for your own benefit." She looked out the window. "The Outskirters know nothing of Aslan's love, nor how he can change a life and make things new. They know of no power in the world that can ever change them, nor people's perception of them."  
Something in Melanie's words pierced deep into Martan's heart. "They must be told!" he said.  
Melanie nodded, "Yes, but how would it be if they were _shown_ an example of Aslan's love, as well as told?"  
Martan whirled away from the window, "Milady, you have given me an idea! Page!"  
A pageboy appeared at his Lord's call.  
"Gather me the delegations, as well as the craftsmen and women of the town. Tell them to assemble in the square, as I have an important announcement to make!"  
"What are you going to do, Martan?" Melanie asked.  
"I am going to aid the Outskirts, myself if I have to! They will _see _Aslan's love!" he grabbed Melanie's hand, his eyes alight, "Melanie, we will rebuild the Outskirts!"

When Martan first made the announcement to the congregated Nastians, it very well appeared that he would be rebuilding the Outskirts alone. As much as they respected their Lord Steward, did he really men them to use _their _time and _their _resources to help the dirty, stinky Outskirters?  
Then Lady Melanie herself stepped forward. "When we did not know Aslan," she said, " we were on the Outskirts of _his _kingdom. When we acknowledged him as the Great Lion, he brought us back from these 'outskirts' and into his very palace." She looked down at all the farmers in the crowd.  
"You farmers have read the signs: the birds have gone, the squirrels have buried more nuts than in times past, your livestock have thick winter coats. There is a hard season coming upon us; cannot we, who dwell in the very palace of Aslan, safe within his paws, at least seek to give our _neighbors_, the Outskirters, a safe place to live for the winter?"  
A dead silence settled over the crowd as each asked within himself and herself the Lady's piercing question. Finally, one man raised his head.  
"I will," he said.  
"I will," said another.  
"We will!" Brion and Satchelle cried together.  
More voices joined in, until the whole crowd agreed to Lord Martan's plan as one.  
The young lord grinned hugely as the flood of affirming voices washed over him. He held up his hand to silence them all.  
"Let us begin!"  
Every man departed to his home to gather the necessary tools and supplies.

Mag, an Outskirts girl, pulled the filthy rag she used for a shawl closer around her. The biting wind still blew upon her bones, as if she had nothing on her skeletal frame (which was nearly true). She picked her way between garbage piles to the hovel she shared with her aunt.  
A steady scraping noise would have hardly attracted her attention, if Mag hadn't caught sight of the person making it: a farmer's wife. She was (Mag thought) richly adorned in a long, flannel dress and a woolen shawl, thick and soft. To the wonderment of the bare-footed, wide-eyed girl, this angelic, queenly woman was actually sweeping the streets of the Outskirts!  
Mag stood and watched as the good woman—one who usually passed through these streets without a second glance—swept all the much and filth into wheel-barrow pushed by none other than her husband. The afternoon sun drove away the morning mists as the farmer's wife looked straight at Mag and smiled! Mag hesitated and tried to shrink back into the hovel, but the farmer's wife came near her, still smiling. The fearful girl saw more movement, and saw that the streets were fairly crawling with farmers and townsfolk; what were they doing? Why were they here? Mag had never done anything wrong . . . she hoped.  
The farmer's wife drew her hands up; Mag was sure this lady would strike her, but no! Instead, the beautiful farmer's wife undid the gorgeous brooch that fastened her thick shawl, and gently pulled the shawl around Mag's own thin shoulders! The girl gasped as warmth such as she had never known seeped all the way through her much faster than the cold ever had.  
"Mag?" Her aunt's creaky voice interrupted the wondrous moment from within the hovel, "What are ye doin', chile?"  
The farmer's wife peered into the door and asked Mag, "Is it your mother?"  
Mag could not speak, for fear the dream would be over, and the farmer's wife and her shawl would disappear into the mists; she only shook her head.  
"Your grandmother?"  
No, again.  
"Your aunt?"  
Mag nodded.  
"May I go in to her?"  
Mag was startled. No one, whether from the town or the outlying farms, _ever _went into an Outskirts home!  
"Mag! Who's thar wi' ye?" Mag's aunt demanded.  
The farmer's wife still waited for an answer from Mag. The little girl, emboldened by the warmth encompassing her, nodded again and led the miracle woman into the place she called home.  
The farmer's wife surveyed in pity the small room that was home for the little girl and her glassy-eyed, invalid aunt. The only difference between inside the hovel and outside it was the four walls around them and the roof over their heads. The garbage, the stench; it was all the same.  
Mag smiled obliviously as she climbed onto her aunt's lap and gave her the shawl the same way the farmer's wife had.  
"Lawd a' mercy!" Mag's aunt gasped when she felt the fine wool about her shoulders. "Whar did ye git that?"  
The farmer's wife smiled, "I bring you greetings from Aslan."  
Something in that name thrilled little Mag and emboldened her to speak.  
"Please," she said in her delicate little voice, "who is Aslan?"

Outside, more and more people thronged in the streets, cleaning up garbage, patching up buildings, and giving out clothes and blankets.  
Since the Temple was no longer a place of worship, Grammon and his assistants, tore away the extravagant décor and grandiose spires, and gave them for railings and stairs in the Outskirts.  
Grammon watched the pieces of the Temple being used thus, and he said to Lord Martan,  
"I deem them in better use to the service of Aslan now than they ever were before!"  
As the people spread throughout the Outskirts repairing buildings, they also held conversation and repaired hearts, as the Outskirters, when they saw the selfless servitude of the people who once refused to even look upon them, asked the reason and received the message of Aslan, the Great Lion, who gave his life for everyone.

It has been said that the gift of mercy is a double-ended blessing, as it ministers to the one receiving it, and the giver receives all the more to dispense. Thus the people of Nast discovered, as they spent more and more energy and resources in giving to these Outskirters, their energy and resources—far from being depleted—actually increased as they were expended.

Friends were made, and as each citizen took part in sharing the message of Aslan and in improving their surroundings, the City of Nast were united. No longer were they divided into two camps—the Outskirts, and the City—but they became one City. Those former Outskirters willing to work received places to live and the provision of employment in farms and the newly reopened giving-houses.

By the time Telmar approached winter, every citizen in Nast had a secure place to live. Not an ounce of edible produce remained above ground, but the unripe was pulled with the ripe, to mature safely underground where the cold would not spoil them. The wool had long since been made into many warm blankets, or yarn and knit onto many warm clothes to share.

Melanie, from the highest window in the castle, gazed anxiously at the dark, menacing clouds building just beyond the mountain passes that marked the edges of Venna to the north, and Puriva to the south. She knew Nast was protected for the most part, on account of its location within a small, flat, low, bowl-like valley between these two provinces.

Still, by the looks of the black clouds amassing on the horizon, Melanie wondered how much protection even those mountains would afford against a blizzard.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	12. Chapter 12: The Blizzard

_**Chapter 13**_

Melanie saw nothing, heard nothing, but she knew something was different the instant she opened her eyes and saw the light shining weirdly through the windows.  
She looked down at the foot of her bed and saw an old, stooped serving-woman just finishing the fire in the fireplace. Melanie threw back her thick covers and gasped as the cold bit through her nightgown. The maid instantly leapt up at the noise and grabbed Melanie's dressing gown and slippers, which had been warming by the fire. Melanie smiled gratefully as she put them on.  
She crossed over to the window. The sun reflected of the snow so brightly, it hurt her eyes to look at it. She placed a hand on the window to let in fresh air, but the maid stopped her.  
"O, Lor', Ma'am! You'll not want to do that! Feel the glass!"  
Melanie, puzzled, placed her hand on the glass, but drew it away sharply. The panes were so cold, touching them was like touching panes of ice. Melanie knew if merely the window was that cold, the air must be colder still.  
"Is the blizzard over already?" she asked the maid.  
The old woman peered outside, "I have only seen one blizzard like to this, Milady, and I can tell you, it is not over yet!"

The old woman proved correct in her assertions. The sky clouded over that night, and for the next week there was little to be seen of the sky for the clouds and the driving, stinging snow and ice. The only means of measuring the passage of time Melanie and Martan had were the clocks in the palace and the slight variance of the light shining through the clouds.  
Because of their leaders' foresight, however, each Nastian had plenty to eat, and no crops or livestock were ruined by the storms that ravaged the land and filled the Nastian Valley with snow and ice.  
Elsewhere in Telmar, however, the larger, richer provinces did not fare so well. At the start of the season, many "agriculturalists" (they owned the land, tools, and produce on the farms, but did not do the work themselves; to own a farm was profitable, but to work on one, degrading!) still believed they had time to harvest as they required it, the past twenty winters having been so mild, each one assumed this one would be no different. Besides, the first harvest had already filled their barns too full for the ignorant farmers' comfort, but more barns must be built before the agriculturalists would allow a scythe to be lifted. The farmers protested, but what did they pretend to know? Consequently, not a few Telmarine farms had corn, wheat, and other crops still standing in the fields when the first storm hit.  
Others were so ecstatic over the prospects of a bumper crop that they readily sold every sprout of the first harvest, in preparation for the bigger harvest the next day.  
This "next day" these men waited for never came. They awoke the following morning to the horrific sight of ice and snow flying past their windows. Strong winds blew down tall trees, crushing the tender, ripe produce, and hail struck the fragile grapes from the bush. Icy sleet flooded the tender sprouts, and everything not stored in a barn, the blizzard utterly destroyed. The snow and ice falling on Nast was tame in comparison to the driving gales that pulverized the rest of the nation.  
Those who waited to build bigger barns found no opportunity to build them. Furthermore, the constant barrage of ice and snow caused the wood of the overstuffed barns to rot, which spoiled the harvest along with the grains and vegetables still standing in the fields. Those who sold their produce found little comfort in their stores of gold, that could neither feed a family nor keep it warm.

After two months of constant flurries of snow punctuated with stretches of freezing sun, the sky cleared and the air warmed, and the wise old farmers deemed the blizzard finally over. Martan, Melanie, and Grammon led a province-wide thanksgiving service, praising Aslan for his preservation.  
Meanwhile, the arrogant provinces that had so rudely spurned Nast in their pride were suddenly made to recall them and long for their generosity.  
Martan was shocked at the blizzard's end to receive letters from nobles throughout the other provinces, actually begging him to send the delegations back to them.  
He tossed the handful of parchments onto the table in front of Melanie, who glanced over them, guessed their content, and grinned. He turned to Aslan, who was standing beside her, clearly recalling his words not too long ago expressing his fear that exactly this would never happen.  
"So soon, Aslan?" he gasped.  
The Lion nodded. "Go, for I am with you."  
Though Martan's faith increased, and he obeyed Aslan instantly with his whole heart, the delegations were not so easy to convince.  
"Milord," one hesitant bowed timidly, "Ah, do you not recall the way we were treated last time?"  
"My good man," Martan replied, "Aslan will be with you."  
"As he was last time, and look what still happened!"  
"But," another continued, "you say we are now sought after? How do we know this is not a trap, to trick us?"  
"Yes, and what if we give away our food and have nothing for ourselves? Will we be forced to starve till spring harvest?"  
"By the Lion!" Martan cried, suddenly jumping to his feet. "My people! Have we not just survived the bitterest winter Telmar has ever known for over two hundred years? Can you not deny it was by Aslan, and Aslan alone? _We _have food left over; _they have nothing! _Aslan has brought this storm for this express purpose! Go forth, I say, in Aslan's name!"

The delegations that issued forth, some timid, some grumbling, came back nearly a week later. All five of them returned in the same day, wagons empty and mouths filled with the praises of Aslan.  
When Melanie noted that some of them did not even have their wagons, they explained that they had given them away to some nobles whose livestock the storm had killed. Melanie praised them all for their generosity and their faith.  
By the very next harvest, the delegations were so enthusiastic that they volunteered their wagons-full to give again to the still-struggling provinces. Melanie laughed and allowed them to go, where they met with much the same success. Lord Martan thenceforth caused it to be written as law that every harvest, a delegation of farmers and artisans shall depart to every province, giving to them in remembrance of Aslan.

Though the nobles and citizens were grateful, there were some who still harbored their disdain for the little province. A certain summons went out from the castle at Maretum, the capital city of Telami, inviting all the Lords to hold a council. Nast was the only province not notified, and the Lord Protector did not receive notice of this meeting as he should have.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	13. Chapter 13: The Conference of Lords

_**Chapter 14**_

"Let all those present report!"  
"I, Lord Perrin of Eveston, with my chief advisor, present!"  
"I, Lord Daltan of Puriva, with my chief advisor, present!"  
"I, Lord Vern of Sordell, with my chief advisor, present!"  
"I, Lord Burg of Venna, with my chief advisor, present!"  
"And I, Lord Maletus of Telami, with my chief advisor, preside!"  
Lord Maletus smiled evilly, "Very good; I thank you all for responding so promptly to my summons. I believe there is an—ah, hm—an _issue _you wish to discuss, _Lord Daltan_?" His voice dripped in hidden meaning.  
Daltan stood nervously, holding in his trembling hand a paper that had come with his summons. He read from the paper, glancing up at the president Lord at every other phrase.  
"Yes . . . it is the Lady . . . who now rules . . . Nast."  
"Incorrigible wench!" Maletus spat charmingly. "What say _you,_ Lord Vern?"  
The Lord of Sordell stood, "My people were starving, Your Emminence, and a delegation of Nastians came and—"  
"Swindled you, didn't they?" Lord Maletus interrupted, his eyes glinting daggers at the weak lord, "They cheated you into paying for these wares they feign to give freely! They extorted money away from your fair province, _didn't they?_"  
The Lords were weak, but not foolish; they knew Lord Maletus' power, being Lord of the capitol province, and they realized the hidden plan behind the Council of Lords.  
"Yes," Lord Vern said, and as soon as he sat down, Lord Perrin jumped to his feet.  
"Those Nastians are liars! They cheated my people of good food by trying to pass of rotten and spoiled goods! That Lady is a witch!"  
Lord Burg joined his comrade at an approving nod from Lord Maletus. "My advisors have heard certain rumors, Milord."  
Lord Maletus turned his gaze to the slender, pale man standing just behind his lord's chair. "Pray, do tell us," he said, low and dangerous, "what rumors?"  
"There are legends from Nast, oh Most Worshipful Lord," the flattering advisor said, striding out from behind the chair. "Legends from ancient times. It is said that she was banished from the infernal woods one hundred years ago, and is condemned to do the bidding of the Lion-demon of Narnia until Telmar is destroyed!"  
"I have heard similar tales, Milord," Lord Vern's advisor chimed in, "and I would not have believed such tales, if a friend had not shown me these."  
He brought out, to everyone's amazement, two portraits of Lady Melanie. He set up one on his left hand, saying, "This was painted when she first took office as Lady," and the other on his right, "and this one was painted only a week ago, when she was reinstated." Smiling in a way similar to Lord Maletus, he gestured to the paintings. "Aside from the clothing, do you note any other physical difference?"  
The Lords looked closely, but they could not.  
Lord Daltan, in an attempt to return to Lord Maletus' good graces, capitalized on the electricity of horrible fascination coursing through the room as he remarked, "One hundred years, and she has not aged!"  
"What I would like to know," said Lord Perrin, "is how she can manage without merchants! Each of us must depend on imports even from fellow provinces for a stable economy, but the delegation so graciously sent by my grandfather, Lord Nestin, left even before the diabolical storm, and not one of them will dare set foot across the Pass!"  
"Then _why is she still here?" _Maletus snapped, eyes aflame, "_Why _can she drive out merchants, and have aught to give us? Must _we _be in debt to the Nasties? They must be crushed!"  
"If I may speak, Milord," said Maletus' chief advisor, no less evil than his master, only more cunning.  
"You may," Maletus replied.  
The chief advisor continued in a sibilant tone, "If your Lordships were to have sufficient complaint against the Lady, it may be that you could compel His Eminence the Lord Protector to call a Court of Lords, and _he _can be the one to depose of her!"  
"Yes," Maletus agreed, looking at all the lords around him, "we have sufficient reason. Let it be done!"  
"But let not Your Eminent Lordship be too hasty," his advisor continued, "for how will it be if only the Lords of the provinces bring the complaint? Lord Protector Samson is a shrewd man, and he would ascribe our valid accusations to petty jealousy."  
"How can we avoid this?" Lord Daltan asked.  
The chief advisor to Maletus smiled craftily. "Have a petition drawn up, testifying to the faults we have identified in _all _Nast, including the Lady. It only needs fifty signatures, ten from each province, which money, as you know, can buy. Then we may draw up the accusation, and it will be in the Lord Protector's eyes that Nast is indeed a blight to Telmar, and the whole province must be annihilated!"  
Maletus fixed each Lord in turn with a steely glance as he told them all, "Write your petitions, and call your nobles. Let it be done in two weeks' time. We will crush that puny little province like an insect!"

Though many nobles refused to sign for any amount of money or persuasion, each lord finally collected the needed signatures to their trumped-up "petitions" and sent them to Lord Protector Samson.  
His Highness the Lord Protector was initially shocked to discover that one of his provinces was ruled by a woman. He called a servant to check the records, and discovered that his own grandfather, Landon, received notice that Lord Fausberg had indeed bestowed land and title upon a young girl, this Melanie mentioned in the petition. He checked the signatures; fifty they numbered, from all reputable noblemen. According to the charges, this woman's actions as Lady were less than honorable.  
Lord Samson called a scribe with pen and paper to his side. To this servant, the Lord Protector dictated the summons that reached Melanie a week later:

_To the Lady Melanie, Heir to the Regency of Nast:_

_By the Order of His Eminent Highness, Lord Samson, Protector of Telmar, the Lady Melanie is hereby summoned before a Court of Lords, to adjourn in two days._

_No one shall accompany the accused, or take the place of the accused._

_Should the accused be deemed guilty as charged by His Eminent Highness, the life of the accused must be forfeit._

_Should the charges prove false, His Eminent Highness shall decide the fate of the false accuser._

_Be it known that if the accused does not appear before the court at the appointed time, the accused shall forfeit any property, title, or freedoms in their possession, and become a fugitive of the law._

_Thus saith His Most Eminent Lordship, Samson, Lord Protector of Telmar in the Order of King Caspian XIII._

Below all this was affixed the royal seal of Telmar.  
Melanie read it through aloud a second time, in total shock.  
Martan took it from her, desiring to see for himself. Melanie yielded to him, too lost in her own thoughts to think straight. So it came to this! After all she had done to follow Aslan and serve Nast, now she must actually leave the province for the first time, and travel all the way to Telami. She would go by carriage, and arrive before the court of Lords in three days as an accused criminal. What had she done?  
That night, Aslan visited her as she lay sobbing in fear on her bed.  
"Aslan," she gasped, "You will go with me, won't you?"  
Aslan kissed her comfortingly.  
"Of course, Child; I am always with you."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	14. Chapter 14: The Trial

_**Chapter 15**_

Everyone in the court at Gildon rose to their feet as His Eminence Lord Protector Samson entered. Slowly, regally, he mounted the steps and sat on the large throne at the very back of the room. There stood against each wall three chairs on each side, one for each of the six Lords of Telmar. Only the chair for the Lord of Nast stood empty. The regent for that province stood on the floor of the court before Lord Samson's throne as the accused.  
Lord Samson raised his royal staff to signal the beginning of the trial.  
"Who stands accused?" he asked formally.  
Lord Maletus stood, "The Lady Melanie of Nast stands accused!"  
"What are the charges?"  
Now an important part of the Lords' plan came into play. Maletus had warned them all that this Melanie was a great orator, so they contrived that as long as they prevented her from speaking, perhaps her "enchanted tongue" could not sway the Lord Protector. Their accusations thus filled the air thickly.  
"She is a witch, and she has the whole province of Nast under her spell!"  
"She has stolen from the rest of us!"  
"She is a swindler!"  
"She has destroyed Nast, and soon it will spread to the rest of the country!"  
As soon as one Lord paused for breath, another took his place. They were so intent on accusing the woman in front of them that they almost did not hear the Lord Protector pounding on the marble floor with his staff for silence.  
"SILENCE!" the Lord Protector roared.  
Instantly, all movement and speech ceased. He pointed to Lord Maletus, Lord Burg, Lord Daltan, and Lord Perrin. "All of you, leave this court at once, or be held in contempt for disrupting the peace! And you," he pointed to Lord Vern, "stay and await my orders!"  
This was certainly the last thing the Lords wanted! Lord Maletus tried to negotiate.  
"Your Eminence must not be left alone with such a malicious traitor! I swear she is a sorceress, and once she—"  
"OUT!"  
The Lord of Telami scurried from the court at a speed surprising for a man of his girth.  
Once their footsteps died away, Lord Protector Samson turned to the lackey next to him.

"Fetch a scroll and pen for Lord Vern."

The servant produced them immediately and handed them to the terrified Lord. Lord Samson pointed to a desk at the back of the court.

"Now, Vern, you will sit there and _write out _all your accusations against this woman. Surely one as _practiced _as you will be able to recall them all!"

Lord Vern trembled and bowed low. "Your Eminence, I cannot—"

"DO IT!"

The timid Lord bowed again, "Yes, Your Eminence."

Melanie, meanwhile, continued to stand quietly at the center of the court. Her deaf life had made her eyes keen, and though words may lie, eyes seldom do, and she had been watching Lord Samson carefully all during this false trial. She had seen the wisdom and the keen shrewdness in his eye. She had watched him hear at least the first few accusations with skepticism that quickly transformed from annoyance to irritation. Perhaps she would find him to be a just man.

An hour had nearly passed before Lord Vern finished his assignment. He stood meekly, "I have finished, Your Eminence."

"Bring the scroll to me," Lord Protector Samson demanded.

Lord Vern scuttled forward and laid the scroll in the Lord Protector's waiting hand.

"You may leave the court, Lord Vern."

"But—"

"At _once!"_

"Yes, Your Eminence."

Finally, Melanie stood alone before Lord Samson as he read the scroll Lord Vern had just written:

_These is the ackusations agenst Lady Melani:_

_She is a sorseress, and engage in subversive behavior_

_She is bewitched the province of Nast_

_She has encourage the Nasties and encite them to rebellion_

_She is attempt to spread her whichcraft to other provinces_

Lord Samson, once he had decoded the ill-written list, read these aloud to Melanie. He looked at her, obviously amazed at what he read.

"Now, Lady, I wish to know of this odious witchcraft to which they refer. What is it? Give an account of yourself!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Chapter 16

Melanie took a deep breath. "Milord, if I may, permit me to tell you a story."

Lord Samson raised his eyebrows. "I do not approve of stories in a court of law, but this once, if it serves to answer my question, I shall permit it."

Melanie nodded, "Your Eminence is wise; I shall do my best to answer you. This story I tell is one from my own life."

Carefully, respectfully, and tactfully, Melanie told Lord Samson the story of how she had come to Nast no better than those living there: vagrant, poor, and despised. She told him of how she was no better than a curse.  
Then, with great trepidation, she spoke of Aslan. Watching her face carefully, she could see him blanch at the name, but as she continued speaking, she could almost feel the breath of Aslan pouring around her, and she continued to tell Lord Samson the complete truth, how as Lady of Nast she had done everything possible only for the benefit of Nast and of all Telmar. She told him of the plaguing merchants, and how Aslan had driven them out; now, by the providence of the Lion, they are functioning quite happily when they do not have to deal with unscrupulous men.  
She told him all about the giving-delegations, of how they brought the best of their produce, and how she had ordered them never to take money, or engage in dishonesty. She told him of how they were unkindly treated at first, but at the last, she had sent delegations a second time only because the other provinces had begged her to!  
She reminded him of the blizzard, and told him, "Nast, though it seemed small and poor, was in fact protected by the grace of Aslan, not by anything of my doing!"  
Lord Samson, as he listened to the inspired words coming from this young woman, had ceased to be skeptical and now was actually curious. "Why did such a small province win such favor in the eyes of this god, if he indeed be so powerful?"  
"Perhaps, Your Eminence, it is because Aslan desires to show his power even through the outcast and the insignificant. I myself could not be standing before you today if it were not for him. He is all-powerful, and he has told me himself that he desires to bless all of Telmar, if they will believe in him."  
With this powerful, point-blank statement, Lord Protector Samson fell dangerously silent and pensive. Melanie feared she had overstepped the bounds of propriety, but the statement had slipped out against her bidding, and there was no way to unsay her words.  
To her surprise and relief, Lord Samson did not order her execution, but said mildly and in a non-committal way, "I will consider all you have told me."  
He sent a man to summon the Lords back into the court. In their presence, he allowed Melanie to resume her seat as Regent of Nast.  
"Be it known as the official ruling of this court!" he cried, "Melanie of Nast is hereby pardoned of all accusations!"  
The five Lords gasped. "Forgive me, Your Eminence," Lord Maletus said in a humble tone he rarely used, "but on what grounds is this judgment?"  
Lord Protector Samson fixed the evil man with a look of death, "I make this judgment in light of the lack of evidence backing your insidious claims, Lord Maletus; or is there evidence you have not presented, and are therefore susceptible to accusation yourself for obstructing justice?"  
Lord Maletus hung his head, "There is no such evidence, Milord," he said guiltily.  
Lord Samson turned to the rest of the room, "I have not finished my sentence:  
"I myself have heard reports of Nast's generosity in giving out of their poverty to the other provinces, and asking nothing in return. Therefore, I decree that such trade is hereby permitted, (shock in the court), "and no delegation issuing from Nast on such a mission is to be hindered in any way!  
"I have known the debt Nast owes to the rest of the provinces, and I officially declare that debt utterly absolved, so long as Nast continues to freely and impartially give to all the provinces!"  
Such murmurings went up from the crowd at this decree! But Lord Protector Samson pounded his staff upon the floor three times, signifying that the decree would immediately be recorded into irrevocable law.  
The herald stepped forward and cried, "Thus saith Lord Samson, Lord Protector of the throne in Telmar in the Order of His Regal Majesty, King Caspian the Eighth!"  
Any complaint was fruitless. The Lords, far from accomplishing their intentions of squelching Nast between their greedy fingers, found themselves now compelled to allow Nast to flourish! They left the court grinding their teeth and muttering dire and useless threats and curses upon the impervious Lady.  
Melanie, to her credit, did not gloat over this victory. Instead, she patiently waited and allowed the other Lords to leave before her, and paused to thank Lord Samson before she departed from the court.  
Lord Samson watched her carefully as she withdrew. Her gentle demeanor left a profound impression upon him. When at last he was alone in his court with his servant, he remarked,  
"There must be something to this Aslan she speaks of, no matter what his Highness the King believes! I tell you, I have seen more might of spirit today in one young Lady than I have witnessed in all my dealings with any other Telmarine ruler!"  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	15. Chapter 15: Telmarine Correspondence

_**Chapter 17**_

_To His Eminence, the Lord Protector Samson_  
_From Lady Melanie, Regent of Nast_

Greetings:

I was overjoyed to hear last week of your conversion to the ways of Aslan! Trust him in all your decisions, and he will guide you faithfully.  
I thank you for your assistance in rebuilding Nast. The scars of old disregard and dilapidation are all but completely eradicated, and Nast is a respectable community once more. I thank you, Your Eminence. I am pleased to report that we are flourishing by your many gifts, and by the grace of Aslan. We have many who are opening their doors to open apprenticeships, and many schools for young and old alike. To see the way Aslan has united us, one would hardly believe there was any sort of storm this winter at all! Praise him for the bountiful harvest!  
I am considering coming out to Telami with the next delegation, to visit you, so that we may talk of Aslan. If you have any questions for him, please let me know, and I can ask them for you.

In Aslan's name,

_Lady Melanie_

_His Eminence, Samson, Lord Protector of Nast by the Order of King Caspian in Narnia,_  
_To Lady Melanie, Regent of Nast,_

Greetings, and the Blessing of the Lion be upon you!

Indeed, I may now number myself among those few who have found true freedom beyond all freedoms! It is as if I had lived my life and ruled Telmar unseeing, unhearing, or sleeping, as it were. I have been awoken, and now I see my people and my responsibility through new eyes!  
How is it possible that I have been so long kept hidden from the unlawfulness so rampant, even in the law-books themselves? I called for the great law-book of Telmar two days ago, and found in it a number of unjust, cruel and greedy laws, meant to extort and oppress! By the new freedom given to me by my belief in Aslan, I repealed those laws, and installed new ones in their places. There is much truth in what you told me when you said that all of Telmar would be blessed through Nast!  
As to your plans of visiting Telami, perhaps it would be better if you would stay. I confess I have told no one yet of my beliefs, because I know that many in my court are loyal to the King, and would not hesitate to report to him of my "rebellion" in choosing to follow the belief system of a conquered peoples. Of course, I must report the goings-on of Nast each month, yet by the grace of Aslan, I have contrived ways of reporting them that do not mention our friendship, or my conversion. Please ask Aslan to protect me from any who wish me harm.

In the name of he who is the High King above all High Kings,

_Lord Protector Samson_

_To His Most Regal Majesty, King Caspian VIII in Narnia,_

Greetings, and may your reign never fail!

Though Your Majesty may not consider a letter written by a common citizen of your illustrious country hardly worth merit next to those written by the hand of His Eminence, the Lord Protector, the contents of this letter may be of interest to your most Royal Person.

It has now been a month since the trial of the Lady of Nast. Of course, your Majesty no doubt intended that the rule of a country should never go to a woman, but as that cannot be helped, Your Majesty is wise to permit it.  
Your Highness, if you would permit a request, I pray you look back on your records for any mention of this Lady's singular beliefs. I happen to know that they are of the same kind as the people you now rule over, the accursed Narnians whom your ancestors fought so hard and conquered. What sane Telmarine would ever think to believe in a god less powerful than their own kings? Very few; Lady Melanie herself is no Telmarine, but a stranger from another land. Did Your Majesty not say that any regent in your land must be a natural-born citizen of the country, if not of the province itself? How then did this foreigner ascend to the throne of Nast?  
It is my unfortunate, yet patriotic, duty to also inform you that I have heard rumors that the Lord Protector, whom Your Highness so carefully selected for his judiciousness and forthrightness, has succumbed to this odious opinion, or at least feigned interest. You may have heard that he pardoned Lady Melanie on the grounds of "lack of evidence," but there are more than a few who believe that this was only a blind for his sympathies concerning her radical ideas.  
I write to you out of duty; you ever and alone are my King!

In your own Most Illustrious Name,

_A Concerned Citizen_

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	16. Chapter 16: The Dryad's Deception

_**Chapter 18**_

Two months after the trial, Melanie wandered among the fountains and flowers in the palace gardens, enjoying the sunshine.

"Well," a familiar voice cried, "so you have come back to us at last!"  
Melanie whirled around in surprise. "Leif!" she cried. The two friends embraced.  
"You have not aged, Melanie my dear!"  
"Nor have you, friend Leif! It has only been six good years in my world, and one more in this! Such a short time will not change a person's appearance much, where one hundred years will certainly kill a man! Tell me the secret of _your _eternal youth, my friend," Melanie teased, "how is it that you have not so much as turned a single hair in two generations?"  
Leif smiled mysteriously and did not answer the question. "I have come to say farewell, Melanie, for very soon I shall be leaving Nast—yea, even leaving Telmar—on a much-anticipated holiday for myself!"  
So caught up was she in this news that Melanie forgot that Leif did not answer her question. Her smile faded. "Leaving? On a holiday?"  
Leif nodded, "Oh come, don't look so glum! I'm sure we'll get to see each other one way or another, in this world or the next. You have been a great friend, and it has been an honor to teach you of the land I call home. I shall miss you very much, Melanie."  
"And I you!" the girl cried. The two friends pulled each other close for a final time.  
As they pulled apart, Leif drew a hand across her eyes as if wiping away tears.  
"Before I leave, Melanie, you must know the truth about me, and in the privacy of this garden I know I can tell you: I am not a Telmarine."  
Melanie laughed.

"But why be so secret about that? There are many immigrants to Telmar . . . " her voice faded as she saw the seriousness in her one-time tutor's eyes.

"Please understand, friend Melanie, when I tell you I am not even Human!"  
Melanie shrank away from her old friend as a look of horror twisted her features. "If . . . if you're not human," she said in a quivering voice, "then for Aslan's sake what are you?"  
Leif sighed and looked at her sincerely. "I'll show you," she replied.  
Leif closed her eyes and muttered some words under her breath. A strong wind suddenly blew through the garden and around Melanie, and seemed to carry Leif away with it, as her body disintegrated into blossoms of some strange Narnian tree. The "Leif-petals" swirled around the fearful Melanie twice before settling back into the form of a woman, and becoming the Leif Melanie recognized.  
"I am a dryad," she said, "a tree-nymph from Narnia. I do not age as long as my tree is still alive. My real name is Leafy."  
Melanie had never seen such a transformation. It almost frightened her, yet at the same time, she wondered how many Telmarines (who prided themselves in being very "realistic" and "logical") knew of the nymph living under their very noses. "Leif—I mean, Leafy—" Melanie inquired, "Are there . . . others like you living in Telmar?"  
Leafy (for so we must now call her) shrugged. "Who can tell? Even in Narnia, all the Talking Animals, Dryads, Naiads, Dwarves, and Fauns have gone into hiding. The King is intent on destroying every last vestige of Old Narnia, as it is now called.  
"This is why I left, and why I now must return, dear Melanie. I have just received news that my tree is marked for extermination, so I must go back to my tree and do what I can. If I cannot save it, I will die. Even if I do detain them, they will probably kill me for who I am, for the forests are evil to Telmarines."  
Melanie nodded; such "logical" superstition had crossed the bridge from this world into hers. "If you must go, then, Leafy, I wish you luck," Melanie said with a sigh, "May Aslan grant you success on your mission."  
"Fare thee well, Lady Melanie."  
"And thou, friend Leaf!"

So saying, the two friends parted, with Melanie retiring into the castle, and Leif out of the garden and into the City. Once she was alone in the alleyways, Leafy reached into the folds of her petticoat and drew out a small, carved chest. She stroked it and whispered, "Ah yes, soon I will go; but not to Narnia. It is not safe there."  
"Where are you going, foolish dryad?"  
At the bold inquiry, Leafy whirled around to behold and old sage in a hooded robe the color of midnight, with a long, snow-white beard. He leaned on a gnarled staff.  
"Who—what are—how . . . how did you know?" she gasped frantically.  
The old man gazed piercingly at her. "The Lion has sent me with a warning: if you cross into the other world, you can never resume your dryad form, but you will become wholly human, therefore you will age as a human. It will most likely be a painful experience for you."  
Leafy sighed and steeled herself. She fixed her goal in her mind: she would take the box of jewels she had stolen from Melanie, use them to enter Melanie's world, book passage to New Telmar (which she had been so clever to research in all her questions about Melanie's past!), and use her knowledge of magic to impress the superstitious inhabitants of that island, who would no doubt be willing to make her their ruler. "I am ready to bear that pain," she said resolutely.  
Leafy fancied she heard the old sage chuckle. "That is only the warning. This is the prophecy: Aslan also says, 'I know of your secret plans, and of your knowledge of magic. If you go, your offspring will learn of your magic, and the knowledge will become a bane to Narnia."  
This was a terrible blow to the dryad! Though she had left her homeland, she was Narnian to the core. "Oh!" she cried, attempting to regain her composure, "Tell Aslan he needn't worry about that! I would only teach the child good magic!"  
The old man stretched out his hand toward her. "If these things do not concern you, go then; Aslan has permitted you. Heed his words!"  
Leafy bowed, merely because it was the proper thing to do, and not because she respected this old man. "Thank you, good sir," she said, and when she lifted her eyes, he had disappeared. Leafy shrugged and resumed her intentions. Carefully, she pried back the lid. She paused a moment to admire the glitter, dreaming greedily of the respect such riches would garner. A large ring set with a ruby rested on the top of the pile. Leafy reached out with a bare hand to touch it.  
A gust of wind enveloped her, pulling her in. Leafy could feel her insides losing their airy, blossom-like lightness, and becoming firmer, solidifying. With a rush and a gasp, she found herself in the other world! Leafy, feeling victorious, paused a moment to take in all her surroundings.  
The streets were paved with stones. Carriages moved to and fro in the streets. Leafy noted with satisfaction that most of the ladies wore dresses similar to hers. Gracious! What _would _she have done if her clothing was not in the latest fashion? She stared at all the people walking or riding past her, and some of them had the audacity to stare back.  
Finally, her roving eyes caught sight of a certain storefront sign, and she knew that within that building she could find what she needed: _SEE THE WORLD! _It said, _London Travel Agency._  
London! Didn't Melanie say that London was the capital of England? Leafy had come to the right place, then; what luck!  
Leafy moved to glide in that direction, as she was accustomed to doing back in Telmar; but alas! Being human, she could no longer glide fluidly, but must walk, using her feet. _Dreadfully provoking, _she thought, but she had been warned! Leafy recalled the prophecy concerning her offspring. An ingenious plan formed in her mind.  
"If I call myself Mrs. Leafy," she said to herself, "I can say I am a widow, and I will never marry, and therefore, have no offspring." She smiled at her own brilliance. _Where is your prophecy now, Aslan? _She thought to herself. _You can't get me here!_  
Leafy flounced into the Travel Agency and boldly approached the small window at the front. The agent—looking very much like he ought to partake of the service he provided others—asked through his cigar, "Whar would ye like to travel?"  
Leafy managed to maintain her composure and avoid breathing the acrid smoke seeping from the man's breath, even as she replied, "I'd like to book passage on a ship to New Telmar."  
The rotund man nearly dropped his cigar, a display of emotion the likes of which he hadn't shown since that "loony" came in wanting to book passage to the moon! However, the agent had a reputation to maintain, so he clenched his teeth on his cigar and asked (through another issuing of smoke), "You want to—what?"  
Leafy wondered at his consternation. She repeated, "I would like to go to New Telmar."  
The travel agent rubbed his scalp. "We have a New England, New Holland, or New Guinea, but I—"  
Leafy, assuming she knew the real reason behind his hesitation, pulled out the chest, which was surprisingly intact after its inter-terrestrial journey. "Money, you understand, is not an issue," she said significantly, with a wink.  
The clerk sighed, expelling a particularly large cloud of grey smoke into the hazy atmosphere around his head. "It's not the—" he stopped, frustrated by this strange woman's insistence. He left his desk (not a habit he cared to form) and pointed the woman to a large map fastened on the wall. "There!" he said, "If you can find it on this map, I'll find a way to get you there!"  
Leafy peered at the map carefully, searching based totally on Melanie's description of the island's location, for even the girl herself did not know exactly where New Telmar lay. Somewhere, she knew, in the great expanse of water labeled "PACIFIC OCEAN." But was it north or south? Leafy, growing more concerned each moment, peered meticulously at each label. It was during this close inspection that she noticed the printing date, in the left corner of the map, very small: _1858_.  
Leafy pointed at this and smiled. "Here's a problem!" she said condescendingly, "This map is outdated! Do you have one more current?"  
The corpulent little man rubbed his head again (small wonder he was so bald in front!) and said in a puzzled way, "This here map were only made two years ago. How much more current do you want?"  
Leafy felt a strange thudding in her chest, where blood once flowed as easily as tree-sap within her. She realized now that, as a human, she had a human heart, which pumped the blood through her veins, instead of the pulsating veins themselves circulating the blood. Through her lessons in human anatomy, she had learned that when the heart thudded like this, it meant fear, which made sense when coupled with the raw terror flooding her mind.  
"Then—" she gasped, "The year is . . . 1860?"  
The travel agent was totally confused. How could one live on the earth, in England, and not know what year it was? "Yes ma'am, it is," he answered courteously.  
Leafy clapped a hand to her mouth. "I must go," she choked, and stumbled out the door.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	17. Chapter 17: Mrs Lefay

_**Chapter 19**_

Leafy's mind whirled frantically as she tried to make sense of the situation and what somewhere—oh, anywhere—at the same time.  
So she was in the year 1860. That would be . . . nearly a century before Melanie's time! New Telmar probably did not even exist yet! How could such an unlucky thing happen?  
Leafy kept walking until she saw a bench. She sat upon it, feeling a stinging in her eyes as she pondered her fate. Aslan had done this! It was entirely his fault! Angrily, Leafy shook her fist at the sky. Up till now she had been confident that, once outside of Narnia, Aslan had no jurisdiction over her. How terrible to find out that this was not true. All her plans were ruined!  
_No matter, _Leafy thought, _at least I still have the chest. _She set it on her lap. Gently, secretively, she peeked inside.  
A fine, grey dust covered the jewels and coins, but everything seemed intact. Leafy pondered as a sudden idea leaped into her head. By a ring she got here to England; would not that same ring take her back to Telmar? Then she could go back to everything she knew, and not worry about this whole confusing business! There was the matter, she recalled, of being forced to remain human the rest of her life, but Leafy didn't think she would mind. Forthwith, the former dryad slipped her delicate fingers into the box, intending to touch the ring and vanish without anyone noticing.  
Nothing happened.  
Rather than transporting her back to Telmar, the ring—along with all the other contents of the chest—disintegrated into that same fine, grey dust. It seems they weren't quite as intact as they appeared. For a moment, Leafy hardly knew what had happened. Oh, the mischief of Aslan! Now every last particle of her supposed riches was gone, and Leafy now held a chest full of useless grey dust.  
Dismally, Leafy reflected on her momentary revel in her own wisdom and diabolical cleverness only minutes before. How foolish she had been to think she could outwit the Great Lion of Narnia! Leafy watched as little droplets, like dew on the grass, seeped from her eyes and trickled down her face. What were they? The water was salty and unpleasant, not at all like the sweet dew. She sighed and felt increasingly sad as more droplets appeared.  
Tears were a new experience to her, but not sorrow; dryads never cried, though they could feel sadness. Leafy's amazement mingled strangely with relief. She was sad, and she cried, but oh! She never realized how good it felt to get out all those tears!  
"Hullo, what have we here?"  
Leafy started, and looked up from those fascinating tears. A man stood before her; he was a handsome man, with a kind face, and eyes full of pity and concern. "Are you all right, madam?" he inquired politely.  
Leafy's first reaction was one of denial. "Yes, I'm fi—" she remembered how matters stood, "No!" she admitted sharply, shedding more tears. "I am much distressed!"  
"Is there anything I can do to help?"  
Leafy nodded. "Please sir, I am a stranger in this land, with nowhere to live and no money. If you would be so kind as to lend me a small amount of currency, and point me to a place where one such as I can stay, I would be so grateful!"  
The man cocked his head at this strange woman, this well-dressed beggar. "Do you not have any friends nearby, who can assist you? What is your name?"  
"My name is Mrs. Leafy, and I tell you the truth, I know no other person in this whole land beside yourself."  
The man, Leafy could see, hardly knew what to think or do about her plight. "Let me ask my wife. Wait here a moment, Mrs., ah . . . Mrs. Lefay."  
He had crossed the lane before she had a chance to correct him. Leafy decided it prudent to merely hold her tongue in the matter. Instead, she watched him as he stepped up to a young woman—obviously expecting—and spoke with her. Leafy deduced that this was the young man's wife. Presently, the pair crossed the lane to where Leafy sat.  
"Mrs. Lefay," the man said, persisting in his mistake, "I am Mr. Thomas Ketterley, and this is my wife, Patricia."  
He stopped there, and an intense, strange longing welled up within Leafy. "The child," she gasped, gazing deep into Patricia's eyes, "what is the name of the child?" There was something captivating, something drawing her inexplicably to that still-forming life, and it showed in the hungry, desperate expression in her eyes.  
Patricia was slightly uncomfortable. "We had thought to name him Andrew Richard," she faltered slightly, wondering at this strange insistence. When "Mrs. Lefay's" face relaxed, Thomas hastened to change the subject.  
"Mrs. Lefay, we would be delighted if you would consent to live with us, as our guest."  
Patricia, grateful for this change of topic, leaned forward and happily hugged the forlorn woman. "Oh yes! Please do! It will be so nice to have someone to look after the little ones, and to have company when Thomas is away on business! Do permit us!"  
Leafy—or as she must henceforth be known, Mrs. Lefay—felt nothing short of surprised at the frank, open hospitality of the young couple. "Permit you?" she echoed, "How can I ever hope to repay you for such kindness?"  
Patricia and Thomas began walking toward their house, only a short distance from town, and they took Mrs. Lefay with them. Patricia laughed, "Oh, we do not mind at all!" she said grandly, "Though, if you are so anxious to do something, you may tutor the children, or watch them if Thomas and I need to travel."  
This last, at least, Mrs. Lefay knew she would have no trouble managing, but the alarm that rose up in response to the first suggestion! How could she tutor two young children from a world she knew nothing about? She was so knowledgeable in the other world, but what use was that knowledge here?  
Patricia interrupted her doubts by taking her hand. "Tell me, Mrs. Lefay, do you have any other belongings?" she asked.  
Mrs. Lefay shook her head. "I have naught but the clothes on my back, and this chest in my hand."  
Patricia linked a friendly arm through hers. "I can soon fix that!" she cried, "Just you see, Mrs. Lefay, I'll take good care of you!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	18. Chapter 18: She Must Go!

_**Chapter 20**_

And so, it happened that Mrs. Lefay came to live with the Ketterleys. In addition to Andrew (born not two months after Mrs. Lefay came), they also had another daughter, Letitia, who was eight years old.  
Letitia was a remarkably sensitive girl, quick to sense others' feelings. She was very proper, even at her age, and had no desire to explore that which lay beyond her immediate comprehension. Mrs. Lefay considered her altogether dull company, but did not show it. Letitia, also, steadily resisted this woman's attempts to expand the borders of her interest beyond the confines of comfortable routine, for the little girl did not trust the strange lady. Mrs. Lefay, in her turn, eventually gave up on the girl. Who would bother with such a dull, unimaginative child?  
Andrew, on the other hand, proved exceptionally curious, even from his cradle. From the instant of his birth, Mrs. Lefay felt a bond with the boy, and felt it strongly. Even before he could speak, Mrs. Lefay knew they could understand each other. She spoke to him of many things as freely as she would little Letty, with the exception of one topic in particular. When Mrs. Lefay judged Andrew old enough to understand, she spoke to him of the one possession she still had intact as a remnant of her old life: her knowledge of magic.  
Andrew drank her every word thirstily. He listened with wide eyes and rapt attention as she told him the many useful things magic could do. Of course, she made him understand that they must never mention these discussions in front of his parents. Letty, for her part, always rolled her eyes and left the room when they began talking, and Mrs. Lefay could train Andrew in peace. They kept these lessons secret, and whenever confronted by an unguarded comment from young Letty, both denied knowledge of such things.  
Now, you may want to know what became of the carven chest, the one Leafy pilfered from Melanie. Mrs. Lefay, had no use for it, and furthermore, the sight of it only served as a reminder of her weakness. Her memory of magic had made her feel strong and clever again, and she disliked anything that would dampen that. Therefore, she hid it away out of sight, in a secret compartment in the bureau in her room. (This will be important later on in the tale, you'll see.)  
For ten years, Mrs. Lefay dwelt in the guest room at the Ketterleys. During those years, an odd change came over her, but in light of her constant, clandestine conversations concerning magic, one should hardly be surprised. Dark magic and secret arts seldom remain as purely knowledge. This is why sorcerers and necromancers are nearly always depicted as wizened, crazy men, for the content of the mind issues forth in the appearance. _Caveat!_  
In Mrs. Lefay's case, once the change began its effects, no longer could she be trusted as an effective housekeeper or nursemaid. Letty, even though she was so young, very often had to assume these duties while Andrew and Mrs. Lefay talked learnedly of magic and its uses. Mrs. Lefay, not quite forgetting Aslan's prophecy, took great care to mention only magic's constructive uses. Andrew may not have been her offspring, but one couldn't be too careful when dealing with the Great Lion!  
He listened closely as Mrs. Lefay talked of portals, wands, talismans, and things of that sort. As time progressed, these constant rehearsals of the ways and means of magic had given Mrs. Lefay a strong sense of what she believed to be her psychic powers. She periodically opened herself to clairvoyant trances, in which she would "read" the children's futures, or "see" their thoughts as clearly as if they had been written on their faces.  
Of course, Patricia and Thomas assuredly would have put a stop to this immediately upon hearing it, if it hadn't been the first lesson Mrs. Lefay taught Andrew: the subtle art of deception. He mastered it beautifully. Mrs. Lefay was quite proud of his prowess.  
As it was, neither parent suspected a thing until Patricia happened to pass Mrs. Lefay's room. She would have continued had she not heard Mrs. Lefay conversing animatedly with someone else.  
To whom could the old lady be talking? Patricia knocked on the door, "Mrs. Lefay?" It didn't appear Mrs. Lefay heard her.  
Patricia pushed the door open. "Mrs. Lefay?" she inquired.  
Finally, she peeked in and gasped. _Mrs. Lefay was talking in a strange language to the mirror! _It seemed to Patricia's terrified eyes that there was another face in the mirror, in addition to the woman's reflection.  
Poor frightened Patricia! She covered her mouth to stifle a cry, and flew to her husband's study.  
"Thomas!" she gasped, clasping the door shut behind her. Thomas turned from his books to his wife. Patricia was more horrified than he had ever seen her before. "What is wrong, Patricia?"  
She swept into his arms and clung tightly to him. "I saw—I saw—" he could feel her shaking as she gasped for breath. Finally, she calmed down enough to explain.  
"Mrs. Lefay is right now in her room, speaking—as I thought at first—to the mirror. But then—oh Thomas! —Then I looked in the room, and I nearly _saw a face in the mirror!_ Oohhh!" She shuddered, but raised her eyes to her husbands face and said firmly, "Thomas, I've decided she must go."  
Thomas was puzzled. "But, dearest, wasn't she a good housekeeper? Didn't she help look after the children when we needed a holiday? And wasn't it your idea from the first that she should live with us?"  
Patricia nodded, "Oh! But she's . . . _changed_ since then! She isn't any of those things _now!_ I just spoke with Letty, who said Mrs. Lefay has been engaging in all sorts of fortune-telling and the like, pretending to foresee futures by the shape of Letty's and Andrew's hand. She even reprimanded Letty for having unbelieving thoughts! Oh! My poor girl!  
"If only I had listened to her earlier, when she first expressed her doubts about the intentions of Mrs. Lefay! But she was only eleven then; besides, I had Andrew to look after, and Mrs. Lefay was so capable I paid Letitia no mind!"  
Thomas felt greatly confounded by all the information his wife related. Had he really been so absent from his own family that he had witnessed none of this? "Were not Mrs. Lefay's intentions good regarding our children?"  
"Perhaps at first; I daresay Letty's turned out all right. But just _look _what she's done to Andrew! The older he gets, the harder he is to handle! I can never truly be sure of anything he says after this. He's been hiding Mrs. Lefay's words and actions from me all along. Letitia says they've been chums ever since he was born. She must _go_, Thomas!"  
"But, dearest, where would she go? She has no friends and no connections, in spite of the ten years she's been with us."  
"What about the old Burgundy Place down the street? No one's lived there for years, and I'm sure she could manage admirably there. We could send someone over to visit from time to time, just to make sure she's comfortable. Please, Thomas!" Patricia begged, "Mrs. Lefay must go, and _soon._" She placed a hand on her belly; there was nothing visible yet, but both husband and wife acknowledged the tiny life just beginning to form within. "She must be gone before the next one comes, darling. You saw how strangely she acted with Andrew. Who knows but it will be worse the second time!"  
Thomas gazed into his wife's pleading, anxiety-ridden eyes and sighed. "Very well; I will see Mr. Burston, the banker, abut the Burgundy Place directly upon the morrow."  
Seeing Patricia smile as she did just then made the whole decision worth Thomas' while.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	19. Chapter 19: In Congress With Darkness

_**Chapter 21**_

The Burgundy Place proved un-owned, and Thomas soon procured it. The Ketterleys' next task—and most daunting one—was informing Mrs. Lefay herself. The old woman was very shrewd, and the minute she knew something was afoot, she shut herself in her room.  
With great trepidation, Patricia called on her. "Mrs. Lefay?" she inquired, but she did not answer. Patricia slipped into the room. Mrs. Lefay sat in the high-backed armchair before the fire, unmoving. Perhaps she hadn't heard her. Patricia Ketterley crept toward the chair cautiously, reaching out with her hand to touch it.  
Just before her fingers made contact with the fabric, Mrs. Lefay's queer voice cut the awkward silence.  
"So you have decided to send me away."  
She did not whine, she was not angry, she wasn't even asking a question; she merely stated it as a matter of fact. Patricia found herself quite taken aback. She hastily defended herself,  
"Please understand, we mean no unkindness, only, well, you've been here for more than ten years, and surely by now you have made friends! Thomas and I have found a suitable house for you, where you can comfortably—"  
"Live alone."  
Her voice was still dead, still flat, but now Mrs. Lefay turned her head and fixed Patricia with one of her eerie, unnerving stares. Patricia felt uncommonly like a butterfly on a card, and that stare was the pin, fastening her to the spot.  
"I see how it is," Mrs. Lefay said with a resolute, compliant sigh, "You wish me to go away, because I am a bother to you. You wish to forget about me. You _know _I've been here in the house the whole time, and things are just as they were in the beginning: you are my only friends in this whole world." She let out another sight so heavy, Patricia seemed to feel the weight of it on her shoulders, and it drove her penitently to her knees before the armchair as Mrs. Lefay finished, "Ah, well, I suppose all things must come to an end, even friendships. Very well, if it must be that way, I'll accept it." And she looked down upon poor Patricia with eyes like those of a sad, noble dog whose master must kill it.  
The mistress of Ketterley house fairly crumpled under such a gaze. "Oh no!" she whimpered, "It isn't like that at all!" (Even though it was) "Please, Mrs. Lefay, believe me when I tell you it is just as unpleasant for me as it is for you, but—"  
Mrs. Lefay shrugged grandly. "Did I say I refused?" she demanded, "I know you want me out of the house before the new baby comes. Would I be so insensitive as to begrudge a woman her own house? Especially after you both have been _so _kind and _so _patient with one such as I."  
Patricia stood quickly; she must leave before Mrs. Lefay's words cut her too deeply!  
"I must go and see Thomas about moving the furniture," she murmured, making her way to the door.  
"Patricia?' Mrs. Lefay called after her; she paused. "You _will _allow the children to visit me, especially Andrew; I've grown so fond of the lad."  
Oh! _Bother _Mrs. Lefay and her statements so like prophecies in their bluntness! It took all of Patricia's concentration to shut her door slowly before flying down the hall to Thomas in the library.  
"Thomas!" she gasped, "I just spoke with Mrs. Lefay and what do you think? _She knew! _How could she possibly know if she's been shut up in her room all week? About the child coming, about positively everything! Oh, I shan't sleep a wink till she's gone!" Patricia clapped a hand to her forehead and sank onto the sofa.  
Just then, Andrew burst in ungraciously.  
"Mother! Father! How could you?" he cried.  
Patricia stretched her hands out toward her son beseechingly. "Oh Andrew, darling! It's only down the street, lovey, and she won't be absolutely gone!"  
"But you're sending her out of the house? Why can't she stay? I think she's first-rate!"  
"Do you, my son?" Thomas asked, looking up from his book to his petulant son so lately a young man in appearance, but still very much a spoilt, immature child in his manner.  
He looked boldly back at his father. "Yes I do! May I visit her when I please?"  
Thomas considered his son's request.  
"You may visit her," he said slowly, (Andrew's face brightened), "but only when I please."  
Andrew's expression dimmed somewhat. "But when is that?" he demanded.  
Thomas Ketterley looked sternly at his son. "You have learnt many bad habits over the years, such as this disrespectful attitude you display before me now. Hear this, my son: if you are kind to your sister, respect your elders, and are not cross, but helpful the whole day long, on the day following you may visit Mrs. Lefay."  
Andrew started at this heavy assignment. "I must be good the whole day?" he cried, but resigned himself, "Well, all ri—I mean, yes sir."  
Thomas smiled, "Good lad!" he encouraged. "You may go say farewell if you like."  
Andrew ran from the library.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

A fortnight later, all of Mrs. Lefay's things were moved into the Burgundy Place. As sad as she was that the woman had not made any friends while living with them, Patricia hesitated now to introduce her to others, as Mrs. Lefay's sanity seemed to leave her very quickly after the move.  
Andrew, of course, proved very speedy at "recovering" from Mrs. Lefay's training—according to appearances, at least. He viewed this as an opportunity to hone his skills of deception, which Mrs. Lefay had taught him early on.  
He could hold his father's gaze like an honest child and say he'd been good all day; you could never tell from looking at him that he had stolen cookies, flustered the maid by rigging a fish-hook to the doorbell and pulling on it every five minutes, and spoilt the flowers in the garden, but patched them up cunningly afterwards.  
He could be poking and snooping around his parents' "forbidden" boxes and closets one minute, and just exiting his own door beside it in the next. He could worry the cat into a frenzy so the whole house heard it, and return to playing quietly as soon as anyone so much as peeked in the door.  
Andrew called it his "cleverness" and won many days with Mrs. Lefay by it. He also won his mother's trust, and when the new baby was born, (a girl whom they named Mabel), she would let Andrew and Letitia take the baby to see Mrs. Lefay. Letitia, by now nearly twenty and quite the sturdy and loyal young woman, still did not relish the idea of having to see Mrs. Lefay and visit with her, but Patricia begged her daughter to accompany Andrew and Mabel, for the baby's sake.  
Mrs. Lefay's eyes lit up unnervingly when she saw the beautiful baby. "What a delicate child!" she cried, "Tell me, Andrew, what is her name?"  
Even though Letty held the baby, Mrs. Lefay deliberately ignored her and addressed Andrew. You see, the ill feeling was mutual between the two ladies.  
"Mabel is her name, Ma'am," Andrew replied. He was sincerely respectful of Mrs. Lefay, because he admired her.  
"Mabel," Mrs. Lefay echoed, "what a pretty name."  
Immediately at the sight of Mrs. Lefay, little Mabel began to fuss and cry. The woman responded with keen disappointment. "I guess she doesn't understand me. But I know something about her." She and Andrew shared a smile, but Letitia rolled her eyes, tossed her head, and carried the troubled child from the room.  
When she was gone, Andrew leaned forward excitedly. "Tell me, Mrs. Lefay, what did you learn?"  
She smiled mysteriously. "Well, I'm not quite certain about the particulars, but I do know that when she is grown, she will fall _very _ill."  
Andrew drew back in shock. "Mabel? Do you know if she will recover from this illness?"  
Mrs. Lefay lifted her hands in uncertainty. "As I told you, I don't know all the details. Now I am tired; you must go home or your parents will not let you return, and I would dearly love to see you again—and the baby."  
Andrew nodded, "All right; good day, Mrs. Lefay."  
"Good day, Andrew."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	20. Chapter 20: Finding The Way Back

_**Chapter 22**_

The very next day, a change came over Mrs. Lefay, and she would not allow anyone to see her, not even Andrew.  
Patricia went to visit her after a week of seclusion.  
"Mrs. Lefay? Are you all right? Letty says you haven't been out of the room for a whole week. Is something wrong?"  
A pale, haggard face peered at Patricia Ketterley. How different the old woman looked now! Her skin was thinner, and more wrinkled. Her hair was also sparse, and some grey hairs streaked the black tresses.  
"Look!" Mrs. Lefay said in a horrified tone. She held up her hand for Patricia to see.  
Patricia peered at it curiously, wondering what on earth terrified the woman so. "I see nothing wrong, Mrs. Lefay."  
"But just look at it! It's all . . ." she caught sight of Patricia's hands. "Why, you've got it too!"  
Patricia looked down at her thinning, wrinkling hands. Mrs. Lefay finally looked up at her, bewildered. "I do not feel ill, only very weak. What is happening to us, Patricia?"  
Finally, Patricia understood Mrs. Lefay's "illness."  
"Oh you dear thing!" she cried kindly, "It is only aging. It is Nature's way of telling us we aren't as young as we used to be. It happens to everybody. There is no cause for concern."  
"Aging? What have I done against Nature, that I should be punished so?" Mrs. Lefay demanded childishly. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror. "I don't like it!" she stated firmly, "How do I make it stop?"  
Patricia shook her head patronizingly. "You cannot stop aging any more than you can stop the tide, dear. Some people may be able to delay it, or cover its effects, but no one can stop it altogether. Now, please, Mrs. Lefay, won't you eat something?"  
Mrs. Lefay sighed despondently, "I suppose if I am not ill, I must eat something. I just do not like it! Patricia," she announced, "I want to go back."  
Patricia Ketterley looked at her friend, puzzled. "Go back?" she repeated, "To where?"  
"To—" Mrs. Lefay suddenly stopped and furrowed her brow. It was as if a part of her mind containing memories of her former life had suddenly and completely erased. "To—before . . . I don't know; I—I just want to go back!"  
Patricia could see the eccentric old woman growing increasingly upset at her inability to "go back" or to even remember where it was located. She changed the subject. "Come down with me, and we'll fix you a nice supper, won't you, Mrs. Lefay?"  
Another heavy sigh, followed by a grudging, "All right."

From that day forward, Mrs. Lefay developed an intense, mysterious fixation with "going back." She couldn't remember, no matter how hard she tried (not even with magic), where she came from, but she desperately wanted to go there.  
After a week of hard thinking, she recalled the word "tree," but it could not be said if she lived upon a tree, under a tree, around a tree, beside a tree, or even _within _a tree.  
She began leaving her house more often, to search for a "way back." The police brought her back to the Ketterleys' once, saying they found her in the park, feeling the trees, sometimes shaking the smaller ones. She spoke of that incident sadly, and as if she thought the trees should have had voices.  
Patricia tried every diversion she could think of to keep Mrs. Lefay from going off alone, with taking Mrs. Lefay shopping for new clothes, getting her photographed, even convincing her to sit and have her portrait painted. She even removed the visiting restrictions imposed on Andrew, permitting him to visit her when he could.  
He tried to get her to say where she wanted so badly to go, but she could not. She was at first deeply interested in Mabel, but as the child grew, it became evident that the child was already uncomfortable around Mrs. Lefay. The old woman immediately classed Mabel in the same category as Letitia and regarded her nevermore.  
About a month after the episode in the park, Mrs. Lefay walked into town alone. She was very dispirited, and it didn't help that all the signs had unfamiliar words: _Drugstore, Grocer, Textiles, _and most puzzling of all, _Attourney-At-Law._ At last, the poor, lost, old woman caught sight of a word she recognized: _Tarven._ Yes! She remembered an apothecary by that name! Perhaps he would have something to help her. She entered the establishment.  
The raucous sight that greeted her apparently confirmed her assumption. The patrons pushing their way into the "apothecary" were obviously stricken with terrible maladies. They went straight to the counter at which stood the tarven, his shelves of clear, yellow, or brown "medicines" behind him. He gave the ailing patrons a dose of this and a dose of that, and they drank it and were immediately happy. The more they drank, Mrs. Lefay observed, the happier they became. Some were so happy, they began singing or dancing. She saw others, though, who drank and drank, yet they were still unhappy, and began hitting other "patients." _That's too bad, _the woman thought, _They obviously got the wrong medicine._  
She wound her way around the tables of "happy patients" until she reached the tarven's counter. "Excuse me, Master Tarven," she said respectfully, "do you have a brew of some sort for an old woman's uneasy stomach?"  
The proprietor of the tavern (for that is what it was; Mrs. Lefay had misread the sign) was Darvin, and he was a bit hard of hearing. He thought this well-dressed lady had addressed him by name and called him "master." Proud as a peacock, he puffed out his chest and announced, "Yes ma'am! I've got all sorts o' brews what'll cure all ills! Here, try this'n, on the 'ouse."  
He took a big bottle of brown liquid off the shelf behind him and poured some into an itty-bitty glass.  
Mrs. Lefay drained it in one gulp. She gasped; it burned her throat terribly! It tasted as nasty as a medicine, but the old woman noticed its effects immediately. My, but didn't she feel much better! "Well!" she cried, "That's a quick medicine! That'll do just fine! May I buy a whole bottle?"  
Darvin shrugged, "Cost ye ten shillings."  
Mrs. Lefay opened the little purse Patricia bought for her and pulled out five coins. She showed them to the "tarven." "Is this enough?"  
In the strange lady's gloved palm were five shiny half-crowns, more than twice the bottle's price. The greedy barkeeper kept this to himself and said, "oh, yes ma'am, that'll do. Here's your bottle."  
Mrs. Lefay happily took the bottle and made her way to the door. She walked down the street a ways before she stopped. "Time for another dose, I think, but oh! I forgot to ask the tarven for that little cup! No matter," she reassured herself with a shrug, "I'll just drink a little right from the bottle." So saying, she tipped the bottle to her lips.  
The rushing, awful stream that filled her mouth was considerably more than the little cup would ever hold. Oh! How much brighter the world looked then! Bright, and a bit tipsy. At least she felt better. Maybe the malady of her eyes was only temporary.

"I . . . juss gonna . . . go home 'n' lie . . . fer a while."

Gracious! How queer her voice sounded! She must be getting more ill.

"Must . . . get home . . ."

Mrs. Lefay tried to walk down the street, but her feet kept getting in the way. What is more, the whole road just wouldn't hold still, but rolled up and down like a stormy sea. Perhaps she needed more of the tarven's brew? She took another drink. It was like liquid fire in her throat! Mrs. Lefay moaned in pain.  
Something crossed her path; what was it? Her eyesight was blurry. It was only a common, stray cat, but in the old woman's intoxicated brain it grew to the size of a lion. Instead of a mangy stray, Mrs. Lefay saw the Great Lion!  
"You!" Mrs. Lefay rasped as the world tilted beneath her. "You've done this to me! It's all your fault!" Angrily, she threw the first thing she could find at the Lion: the bottle in her hand.  
The crash almost jolted Mrs. Lefay from her stupor. She blinked and the Lion disappeared. In its place, she saw what she had done: The bottle had crashed through the window of a jewelry shop. Its contents, the brown "medicine," cascaded over the displays, drawing her attention to the object in the center: a ring.  
Yes! That was what she needed! A ring brought her there, a ring would certainly send her back! The jeweler was in the back room, and thus it appeared that the store was empty, but even that did not deter the inebriated Mrs. Lefay as she grabbed the ring and headed down the street to the Ketterley house.  
Andrew had just stepped onto the porch when she neared the house. She waved to him and shouted, "Yoo-hoo!"  
The young boy glanced up just in time to see a crowd of policemen closing in on the woman. He ran down the steps toward her, hoping to reach her before they did.  
Too late! They surrounded her just as he approached. "Mrs. Lefay!" he cried.  
"Andrew!" the old woman gasped, "Andrew!" She pressed something into his hand. "Save this for me; it's my way back," she said, and they dragged her away.  
Andrew looked at the object in his hand. A ring sparkled up at him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	21. Chapter 21: The Box

_**Chapter 23**_

"Mrs. Lefay: Guilty on charges of vandalism, disturbing the peace, violence, and mental instability. Sentence, seven years!"  
The judge dropped his gavel, and it was final. With a last pitiful glance at Andrew, Mrs. Lefay allowed the bailiff to lead her away.  
Andrew sulked all that day, and would have remained thus for all seven years, but his parents sent him away to boarding school. He would have forgotten the crazy old woman, but it happened that he was home for a holiday when they released her. Andrew, now grown to a young man of nineteen years, departed to see his old friend straight away.  
He knew the moment he entered her old room at the Burgundy Place: she was dying. How weak and haggard she looked against the pillow! She made neither movement nor sound as Andrew meekly approached her bedside and laid the ring before her on the coverlet.  
The instant she saw it, her eyes gleamed. "Can this then be the hour of my release?" she breathed. Mrs. Lefay seized the ring triumphantly. "You wonderful boy!" she cried, "Now you will witness the truth about me!"  
"What do you mean?" Andrew asked.  
Mrs. Lefay smiled on him. "Look at me, Andrew. Do I seem as one of your fairies?"  
Andrew shook his head, but then he caught her meaning. He stared at her in awe. "Truly, Mrs. Lefay?" he breathed.  
The woman nodded. "Yes; this old mortal soul has fairy blood in her veins. Let that be a lesson to you, young man! The most ordinary humans may have fairy blood in them, anyone from a charwoman to a duchess! I myself am among the last of that exquisite breed." And she sighed over the fate of her race.  
"But Mrs. Lefay," Andrew gasped, "why do you tell me this now?"  
Mrs. Lefay grew very sad again. "I am ill, Andrew; I expected to dies soon. But now that I have the ring . . ." she paused to gaze at it glittering in her palm.  
"What will the ring do?"  
The old fairy-woman frowned upon him as if she thought him a dull schoolboy asking silly questions. "It was by a ring I came here, and it is by a ring I shall go back."  
The frown disappeared and she smiled at him again, "and because of your faithfulness to me, _you_, Andrew Richard Ketterley, shall have the honor of witnessing this great event!"  
Andrew's eyes glowed at this prospect. Imperiously, Mrs. Lefay held up her hand in front of her face. "Behold my departure!" she cried, and slipped the ring on her finger.  
Nothing happened, though boy and woman waited with bated breath. Disappointed, Mrs. Lefay handed the ring back to Andrew. "Oh dear, it's only a common ring, nothing magic about it at all! That won't do. Please be so kind as to return it for me, Andrew."  
Andrew was puzzled. "You mean, the ring does not belong to you? Where did you get it?"  
When she told him the name of the jewelry store, he cried in alarm, "Why, you did not steal it, did you, Mrs. Lefay?"  
"Of course not! I had every intention of putting it to good use! If I wasn't so ill, I'd return it myself."  
Because of their relationship, Andrew was loath to think badly of Mrs. Lefay, so he did not notice her deliberate dodge of his question. He accepted the ring from her hand. "But how am I to return the ring without being seen?"  
Mrs. Lefay got a queer glint in her eye. "For a long time, we have talked about magic, haven't we, Andrew?"  
The young man nodded.  
"And you remember all I have told you about making sure that you remain in control over it, and use it to your advantage, but not for evil purposes, don't you?"  
He nodded again.  
"Well, since you do, I think you are ready to know some real magic."  
He looked up and grinned craftily. "Really, Mrs. Lefay?"  
She nodded. "When you reach the store, say these words, and no one in there will even notice you at all."  
She gave him certain words to speak (but I shall not print them), and he departed.  
It did not occur to her until late that evening what she had done. She recalled Aslan's prophecy as clearly as if he were in the room, repeating it to her: "_Your offspring will learn of your magic, and by that knowledge a great Evil will come to Narnia."_  
Every memory she had of her Narnian life came rushing back in one awful knell.  
"No!" Mrs. Lefay screeched, "Curse you, Aslan! Curse your prophecies!"  
Long ago, Patricia asked Mrs. Lefay to be Andrew's godmother. She realized now what Aslan knew then: one is not solely responsible for physical offspring, but spiritual as well. She had played right into Aslan's paws by teaching him magic, and now she had somehow betrayed her homeland.  
Her wretchedness knew no bounds, for guilt does not like exposure. Light exposes dark deeds, and thus Mrs. Lefay shunned the light. She drew the curtains around her bed, and she refused to speak with anyone besides Andrew. Even then, most days she was so wrought with guilt that she would not talk at all, but writhed upon her bed, moaning as if she were already experiencing the eternal punishment she knew she deserved.  
After seven days of this behavior, Andrew opened the door on his customary visit. He had no sooner set foot over the threshold of the room than Mrs. Lefay's hollow voice commanded regally, "Draw the curtain, Andrew."  
As he approached the bed, Andrew could already hear her wheezy, labored breathing. Andrew pulled the cord that drew back the curtains.  
Mrs. Lefay's skin was so thin and pale it was nearly translucent. Her eyes seemed sunk into their sockets. "Andrew," she croaked, "I am dying; but before I go, grant me a boon!"  
She pointed a bony, white finger to the edge of the room. "In that bureau, in the top drawer on the left, there is another secret drawer behind it. Bring me what you find there."  
Mystified, Andrew complied with the old woman's instructions. In the secret drawer, he found a chest, carven all over with strange, ancient runes.  
Mrs. Lefay eyed the box warily.  
"Listen carefully, Andrew. Your trust of me is vital and valuable. You must do _exactly _as I say, or face terrible consequences. Do _not, _under _any _circumstances, open the box! Tomorrow night, under the full moon, make a circle of white stones under the oak tree in my garden. Within the circle place the unopened box. Then, dear Andrew, you are to burn it so the whole thing becomes absolutely ashes, and bury the ashes within the circle. Do you understand these instructions?"  
It was all very chilling to Andrew that she should be so specific, but he did not show it.  
"Yes, I understand, Mrs. Lefay."  
She shook her head. "I have done you wrong by teaching you magic, my boy. I hope you will never have the occasion or the appetite for it in your life. Promise me you will not open the box."  
"I promise, Mrs. Lefay."  
Mrs. Lefay's breath was more labored, and her voice was fainter as she said, "Promise me you will do everything as I have told you."  
"I promise."  
Mrs., Lefay heaved a sigh.

"Good lad; Now . . . I can die . . . in . . . peace. You . . . may go . . ."

Andrew pulled the curtain closed again and left with the strange box tucked under his arm.

Mrs. Lefay died the next afternoon, full of remorse and screaming in agony.

Though he had promised Mrs. Lefay all she asked, having to wait all that second day proved too much for Andrew. The more he thought about it, the more he developed a fascination for the origins of the box, and by the time night fell, and the full moon came out, he had quite convinced himself that he should keep it for further study.

"After all, she is dead; ehh, she was a bit crazy, too. I just want to look at it, to study it. I'll keep my other promise, and I won't open it . . . yet."

Of course, once we break one promise, the next one is easier to break. Andrew eventually opened the box and looked inside, but the tale of Andrew and the box is already written in another book, so I needn't repeat another's work.

By and by, Thomas and Patricia died, and it was only Letitia, Andrew, and Mabel living in at the house. Mabel grew into a beautiful young woman, and chanced to meet a man by the name of Robert Kirke.

Mr. and Mrs. Kirke moved to a big house in the country, and Mrs. Kirke soon had a son, whom she named Digory. When this lad was quite young, Mr. Kirke was called away to India on business, and Mabel moved back to the city to live with her brother and sister. She soon fell very ill and had to be confined to bed. Digory spent most of his years in that little house in London. What adventures he had with another little girl are also in another story, so if you are at all concerned about _him _you can read the other book.

As for this particular book, it happens to be about a girl whom we have left in Telmar. Let us return thence now and see how she is getting on.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	22. Chapter 22: The Royal Summons

_**Chapter 24**_

Melanie stared at the paper in her hand as she sat on her throne in the palace of Nast. It was a letter from the King himself in Narnia!  
_To the Lady Melanie, Regent of Nast,_

_Greetings from His Highness, Caspian the Eighth, King in Narnia;_  
_I have heard of your faithful work, how you have served my country with miraculous success, even though it is not your native land._  
_This letter is meant to congratulate you for your diligence and commitment to excellence._  
_I have also lately learned of your beliefs, which are unfortunately rampant here in Narnia._  
_I, King Caspian, therefore invite you most cordially here to my castle in Narnia, that I might show you the birthplace of that which you believe. I would also be most interested to converse with you more about this singular form of spiritism._

_In the Mighty Name of His Most Regal Majesty,_

_King Caspian VIII_

Martan thought it strange that the King would write directly to Nast, but Melanie was ecstatic.  
"Here, my friend Martan, is a golden opportunity!" she cried. "Perhaps Aslan has prepared me for this occasion, that I might persuade the King in Narnia to believe in Aslan!"  
Before Martan could reply, a herald announced the arrival of "His Eminence, Lord Samson, Protector of Telmar!"  
Lord Samson entered as the Lord and Lady stood and bowed in respect to him. He nodded and hurried forward.  
"To what do we owe this unexpected honor of your presence, Milord?" Martan inquired.  
Lord Samson's eyes darted from corner to corner of the room. "Lady Melanie, have you received a letter from His Majesty the King?"  
Melanie held up the paper. "It only just arrived. Why does Your Lordship have cause to be ill at ease?"  
"May I read it?"  
Still puzzled at the Lord Protector's agitation, Melanie allowed him. He glanced over it with wide eyes. Once he finished, he produced from a pouch at his side another letter like unto Melanie's.  
"Read that, Milady, and you will see what sort of man is the King."  
Melanie took it and read:

_To Lord Samson, Protector of the throne in Telmar:_

_Word has reached me concerning your recent display of untoward sympathy for the proponents of pagan, fantastical fairytales of mystical beings and talking animals. I hope this sympathy is not a reflection of Your Eminence's personal inclinations._  
_It is in Your Eminence's best interest to immediately disregard any further displays of this nature, and furthermore to see that all mutterings about such things are suppressed, that this land you profess to protect may indeed be protected from such insidious fabrications._  
_If you do not intend to heed this suggestion, I have requested the presence of the Lady of Nast before me in two days; accompany her on her journey to Narnia, that we may discuss the matter further._

_In the Mighty Name of His Royal Highness,_

_King Caspian VIII_

Melanie pondered this second letter deeply. It was certainly a different tone than her letter!  
She looked up at Lord Samson. "One letter is kind and caring, but another is stern and menacing. Which is the real King?"  
Lord Samson sighed. "The latter, I am afraid. Both letters taken together testify to the cunning nature of the King. He can speak to you in words of sweetness and understanding, and draw you in, then condemn you to death, using your own words against your harshly in the next breath. He does not hesitate to remove anyone who believes or speaks contrarily to him. I have known such freedom in the knowledge of Aslan which you introduced to me, but I fear," he gulped, "I fear the cost of such freedom, and so I confess I intend to write a letter of apology to the King. Perhaps then I can convince him that you and I are not a threat, and we can continue as we have been, without his knowledge."  
Melanie shook her head. "Obviously such subversiveness does not work, for someone has been informing the King already without our knowing it. I personally believe Aslan is even now at work. I am inclined to comply with the King's summons. Come with me! Perhaps we will have unexpected opportunities even en route to Narnia to witness for Aslan. One person is powerful indeed, but just imagine the power of two testimonies!"  
"Melanie," Samson cried, "If I have guessed His Majesty's intention aright, his invitation is merely a means to lure us out, to kill us, and replace us with ones more loyal, and haters of Aslan. I have seen the failure of the rulings of such men, and it pains me to think of what they would do to Nast and to all of Telmar. Please do not be so foolish as to leave Nast in the hands of men like those!"  
The mention of death scared Melanie. She had never considered it. Could she actually die here in a different world? Would the Pevensies know what happened to her?  
The slight _hiss_ of the lamps lighting alerted Melanie to the approach of evening.  
"I must return by nightfall," Lord Samson said, "but please, Lady Melanie, Nast needs you!"  
"I will consult Aslan in the night, and what he decides, I will do."  
"Aslan be with you, Milady," Lord Samson said.  
"And you also, Milord," Melanie replied.

Martan saw by the drawn expression on Melanie's face and the pale whiteness of her skin that there would be no discussion that night. He had many things to say, but they would need to wait until morning.

When morning came at last, Martan met Aslan in the gardens, but Melanie was not there.  
"Where is she?" Martan queried, fearing that she had again overslept.  
Aslan reassured him. "She has not succumbed to laziness, but rather she sleeps now a sleep I have given her, for such was her anxiety she would not have slept at all if I had not comforted her heart."  
"She has decided, then?"  
"She has."  
This answer sent Martan's thoughts spinning at a furious rate. He almost could not breathe  
"Something weighs heavily upon you, my son," Aslan observed calmly.  
Martan flushed, "Yes, Aslan."  
"Do not be ashamed; only tell me."  
Martan took a deep breath. "It is about Melanie."

Aslan and Martan talked long. When the young man entered the castle at last, a page immediately found him and informed him that Lady Melanie requested his presence right away.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	23. Chapter 23: The Return

_**Chapter 25**_

Martan, who had built up subconscious hope all the while he walked with Aslan, took one look at the pale, courageous resignation on Melanie's face, and his heart sank.  
"I have decided . . ." she said slowly, "to go to Narnia."  
Martan's heart jumped from his bowels to his throat.  
"No!" he choked, "Melanie, please don't go!"  
She continued, "I hereby bequeath upon you full Lordship of Nast, and officially end the line of Lord Steward."  
"Melanie," Martan cried, "please listen to me. Ever since I first met you, I have loved you."  
Melanie stopped and stared at him, not quite sure what she was hearing. "What?" she gasped.  
"I see in your purity what made my grandfather so willing to wait for you. You are kind, gracious, noble, honorable, and such qualities only enhance your physical beauty!"  
"Milord!"  
"Nay, call me Martan! Melanie, I have watched you all this year, and have seen how, though you could have turned me out of the palace immediately upon your return, you chose instead to welcome me as a partner in rule. Melanie," Martan dropped to one knee before the blushing lady on the throne, "I would be honored beyond words and fulfilled to the uttermost if you would consent to stay here, and become my wife."  
Melanie felt her whole world tilt wildly! "Martan," she cried, flustered, "I could have been your _grandmother!_"  
He shook his head, "Yet some miracle has kept your appearance from fading, and you do not look much older than I am! Please Melanie! Do not throw away your life like this, I beg you!" He clasped his hands and raised them pleadingly.  
Melanie felt the rush and flush of her spirits rising and falling at the same time.  
"Martan," she said resolutely, though her chin quivered a bit, "I confess I have admired you as well. You have shown promising fortitude and great judgement in this last year, and I have greatly valued your friendship toward me."  
Martan looked up, his eyes hopeful. "Then you accept my proposal?"  
There was no mistaking the pain in Melanie's eyes as she said gently, "No, Martan. It is Aslan's will for me to go."  
"No! It can't be!"  
"I am afraid it is. Aslan appeared to me in a dream last night, and said that I should go," her voice caught and dropped to a near-whisper, "and that I shall never see Telmar again once I leave."  
Tears sprang to her eyes and seeped down her face. Martan looked as if he had suddenly been struck dead where he knelt.  
"Never . . . see . . . again . . ." he muttered numbly.  
"I . . . I'm sorry, Martan. I must obey Aslan." Melanie stepped off the throne and handed him a scroll. "Here, this document legally transfers the full rights of inheritance from me." She pressed his hand as he accepted the paper. "I will never forget you, Martan."  
He looked up at her. "But . . . how can I keep Nast in Aslan's will all by myself? What if, after a few generations, we forget about you, about Aslan, and about everything that has happened? I need you here to remind me!"  
Melanie shook her head. "No, you do not. Have scribes faithfully and accurately record everything you have learned in the last year. Direct teachers and tutors to remind the people every day of Aslan's mercy, deeds, and truth. Maintain this careful record, this memorial, and direct your descendants to do the same, and Aslan will see his name revered by generations to come."

She looked up at the footman standing by the door, indicating that her carriage awaited. Her visage pale as death, she entered the carriage as one embarking into one's own coffin.

Verily, the closed carriage, with its shiny black exterior, lined with cloth, and windows hidden by dark curtains, was very much like a large coffin, or a hearse. A sudden pounding on the side caused her to open the curtains. Martan seized her hand and kissed it. She felt the wetness on his cheeks as he pressed her hand to his face.  
"Aslan . . . be with you," he choked.  
"And may he also be with you, my friend," Melanie replied.  
He released her hand, she closed the curtain, and she heard him shout, "Drive on!" gruffly, because of the tears.

Melanie left Nast. The carriage rocked back and forth. Her thoughts turned to Aslan. He said she would never see Telmar again. Perhaps he did not mean she would die. What if, on the contrary, she returned to England from Narnia? Melanie sighed; optimistic, but impossible. She might as well prepare for her death. She remembered what Lord Samson had said about the diabolical King Caspian VIII. It would not surprise her if he intended men to murder her en route! Why else would he order her to come in a closed carriage? It created a scenario with the perfect alibi. Perhaps her only option—if she indeed intended to play the heroine and witness to someone on this journey—was to share her testimony with her murderers, if they even let her speak or listened to her.  
The carriage slowed to a stop, and Melanie's heart jumped into her throat. She felt suddenly ill. Had her time come? It was certainly too soon to have reached Narnia; Melanie was positive they could not have even reached the borders of Telami!  
She heard a footman jump down and open the door of the carriage. Melanie was surprised to see pitch-blackness outside when it ought to have been the middle of the afternoon. Perhaps more time had passed than she realized.  
An unseen hand gently supported hers as she disembarked the carriage onto—  
A wood floor?  
Instant silence pervaded. Melanie could hardly see; it seemed a likely place for a murder to happen. She felt something weighing from her wrist, and a square, flat wooden block under her arm. A bright flash of light caused her to whirl around. There was a small, round window behind her. Where had it come from?  
She crept toward it making absolutely no noise at all. Something struck her arm when she raised her hand to the window. What was it? A burlap bag, suspended from her wrist by a drawstring. Where had she gotten that? There were small objects inside it. Melanie pulled one out and held it up to what little light came through the window to see it.  
Lightning flashed again outside, and in its brief light, Melanie discerned the shape of the object: the miniature wooden bust of a horse.  
It wasn't until the next flash of lightning several minutes later that Melanie remembered everything that felt like it happened years ago, but apparently occurred mere seconds previously. She slowly crept down the stairs at the end of the hall. On the ground floor, she saw warm light spilling from the sitting room, and people periodically moving about. They were the Pevensies!

Melanie entered the sitting room feeling like she had not seen her friends in ages, and they greeted her with the cordial nonchalance that came of not missing her for more than a few minutes.  
She meekly set the chessboard and pieces on the table, and the boys immediately fell to. Lucy was absorbed in a book, so Melanie retreated to a dusty corner of the room to reminisce about her latest (and last) adventure. She subconsciously began tracing lines in the dust on the small table next to her.  
Peter emerged victorious a half-hour later, and Lucy began the second game against him. Edmund saw Melanie tracing her designs in the dust. He moved closer.  
To his surprise, the designs began looking more like actual letters, and furthermore, he found them oddly familiar.  
"That's . . . Telmarine script!" he cried.  
The chess game froze and its players ran to the little table.  
Peter squinted closely at the archaic script and read it aloud. "M-A-R-T-A-N; Martan."  
The siblings exchanged glances. Lucy tapped Melanie on the shoulder, alerting the deaf girl to the fact that she had a surprise audience. Lucy signed, _Who is? _and pointed to the name in the dust.  
To the Pevensies' amusement, the girl colored instantly and shrugged in embarrassment. Lucy shook her head and led Melanie from her dark corner to the sofa before the hearth.  
_Please tell us!_ She signed to the deaf girl.  
Melanie resisted for a while, but then the whole adventure bubbled from her fingers as the four friends silently shared in her experiences long into the night.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	24. Chapter 24: Dinner with The Professor

_**Chapter 26**_

The Pevensies and Melanie sat at their last breakfast in the Ketterley House. No one spoke, but each ate silently. The telephone broke the silence with its grating ring. Peter answered it.  
"Hello?"  
"Hello, Pete; this is Susan."  
Peter picked up his head, "Susan? Where are you?"  
Susan laughed carelessly, "Oh, don't fret, I'm fine. Say, I want to apologize for not coming over and speaking at graduation. I would have, but everyone was leaving to a party that I'd completely forgotten about, and so of course I _had _to go with them. I do appreciate your being there, though."  
"Susan," Peter interjected, slightly irritated, "Where are you?"  
"Peter," Susan giggled maddeningly, "are you concerned for me? Don't worry, dear! I'm perfectly safe. I'm with Benton."  
"Susan, you shouldn't be with him!"  
"And why not?" Susan's voice dropped its light, affected tone. "He's perfectly responsible. Actually, he's part of the reason for my call, because I am saying goodbye!"  
"Goodbye? Where are you going?"  
Susan laughed again, "Oh! That's the fun of it! Benton is going on a holiday for a whole week in France, and he invited me to go with him! And so, dear brother, I'm saying _au revoir_ to you all! I promise to send postcards, darling! And I'll be sure to keep my eyes out for some little gift at a real French shop.  
"Oh! Speaking of shops, tell Lucy I was in Blume's the other day, and they had the most gorgeous little skirt that I think would look _divine _on her! She does _so _need new styles, poor little chick! Give her my love . . . oh, and that deaf girl, if she's still around. Funny how I found her all those years ago, and she's nearly part of the family now!" Susan broke off with a giggle.  
"Susan, why are you leaving now?" Peter asked quietly when Susan finally ceased her prattle. "Lucy misses you; can't you come say goodbye in person?"  
Susan was silent for a long time. "Oh!" she sighed at last, "I would, but there's the ship now! I'm off! I will write, _cherie!_ Farewell!"  
Peter heard a click, and silence on the line. He hung the telephone back on its cradle.  
Susan was gone.  
"Peter, was that Susan?" Edmund asked.  
He nodded.  
"What did she say?" Lucy wanted to know.  
Peter did not turn around, and there was an uncharacteristic slump in his shoulders.  
"She said goodbye," he said, and left the room.

Everyone pitched in, and all the Pevensies' belongings were packed and ready to be loaded into a cab. The telephone rang again, and Peter picked it up, hoping it would be Susan.  
"Hello, Peter." It was old Professor Kirke.  
"Hello, Professor," Peter sighed.  
"You sound rather disappointed. What happened?"  
Peter told him that Susan had left them.  
"Oh, that's too bad; say, why don't you all come out to the cottage, and we can have a Narnia dinner this evening? It would cheer you up, I think. Bring your cousin and his friend, too."  
"Why, sir?"  
"Well . . . because I think it's high time we all got together for a good talk."  
Peter sensed something else in the Professor's tone. "And?" he prompted.  
Professor Kirke sighed, "I seem to have this feeling that you are . . . somehow wanted. Will you come?"  
"I think we might be able to; say, four o'clock?"  
"Four o'clock it is, then. Polly and I will meet you at the station."  
"All right; goodbye."  
"Goodbye, Peter."

Accordingly, the Pevensies, Eustace, and Jill all met at the train station and traveled out to the country, where the Professor and Aunt Polly met them immediately upon arrival. The boys loaded the luggage into the back of the Professor's rickety auto, and they set off down the long lane to the Professor's cottage, where he had lived ever since his larger house—where the Pevensies had such adventures in the magical wardrobe—had burned to the ground.  
The girls and Aunt Polly set about making supper, and soon all was ready, and they made a fine meal of it. As you would expect, the conversation soon turned to Narnia, and Peter was pleasantly surprised to find that remembering old times and grand adventures diverted his mind from his frustration against Susan's foolishness. If she had been at dinner that night, I'm sure everyone was in such a mind to forgive and welcome her on the spot. However, a guest of quite a different sort was to appear that night.  
Everyone had finished supper for the most part, and were still chatting when the three younger kids jumped to their feet, Jill with a little scream of fright.  
"What is—" Edmund began, but the question died on his lips when he followed their gaze to what they saw.  
Polly gave a little gasp when she saw it, and the Professor jumped and knocked his glass off the table. There was a ghost sitting right across from them!  
Peter clenched his hand as he had gotten in the habit of doing at school, to steady his voice. He commanded the ghost, "Speak, if you're not a phantom or a dream. You have a Narnian look about you, and we are seven friends of Narnia."

Melanie, putting away dishes in the kitchen, nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard someone yell.  
"I am King Tirian of Narnia!"  
She ran into the dining room. A few of her friends were on their feet, and everyone was staring at one side of the table. There was a ghost! It's back was toward Melanie, but she could hear it speak.  
"Narnia is in grave danger! Please help us!"  
Peter jumped to his feet. Melanie saw his lips move, but she realized that, though she could hear the king, she was still deaf in England. Perhaps they could not hear him! She ought to say something, but what—  
Before anyone could react further, the ghost of King Tirian faded and disappeared.  
Melanie finally recovered her senses. She ran to the table. Everyone was talking with wide eyes. Melanie tapped Edmund on the shoulder. _Why do you sit here talking? _She signed, _Narnia is in danger!_  
She did not understand the look of total shock he gave her. _How do you know?_ He signed.  
She furrowed her brow, _Because the King said so!_  
Edmund's mouth dropped open, _You heard it speak?_  
Melanie nodded, and Edmund whirled around and announced this to everyone else. She could see him explaining that though she was deaf, in the Narnian world she could hear.  
Peter turned to her, _What sort of danger?_  
Melanie shrugged, _I do not know; I could not ask._  
How she wished she would have! But there was no help for that now. There remained only one thing to do: find a way to save Narnia!

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	25. Chapter 25: Ending 1

_*A/N: So now you have a choice! I wrote 2 endings for this series. Please read both and let me know which one you prefer! :) -KM  
_

_**Chapter 27**_

One week later, Melanie stood on the porch of the small house, waving until the Professor pulled out of sight. She turned back to the empty house with a sigh.

How amazing the last week had been! She only hoped Eustace and Jill could reach Tirian in time. If only she had been able to speak to the king!  
_Oh well, _the girl thought to herself, _at least I remembered the rings._  
It hadn't taken long for everyone to realize that—as much as every one of them wanted to go—Eustace and Jill were the only ones with a chance of going. But how were they to get there? The wardrobe was gone, and anyway, one couldn't just peek into all the cupboards and doors until one saw Narnia!  
Edmund, as he usually did, translated the whole discussion into signs to include Melanie.  
_What do you think? _He signed.  
It didn't take Melanie long to remember how she first got into Narnia. _There are the rings, _she signed in reply.  
Edmund, not understanding, repeated her reply to the others.  
"Rings?" the Professor cried suddenly. "Oh yes! The rings! Do you mean she's found them?"  
Edmund translated the Professor's question, and Melanie nodded. _Found them when I first went to Telmar._  
"Can you use the rings to get to Narnia?" Peter asked.  
The Professor shrugged, "I don't see why not; when I used them, they only brought Polly and I as far as the Wood-Between-the-Worlds, but I'm sure if Aslan wants us—or Eustace and Jill—to get to Narnia, he could make it happen. He always has."  
Everyone nodded at the wisdom of this, and Edmund said, "Well, that takes care of how to get to Narnia; now the question becomes, how to get the rings."  
Jill shook her head. "It's no use Scrubb an I going, because there's a good chance we might not make it back in time for school, and there's sure to be a row if that happened."  
Edmund looked up suddenly, "Say! Why don't Peter and I go; Peter knows his way around the house, and he could find where they were buried. We could meet Eustace and Jill on their way to school, hand off the rings, and of course the adventure in Narnia will take no time at all!"  
All those present agreed this was a capital plan, and it was enacted the day after. Peter and Edmund went to London, and—in order not to attract attention as they prodded around the sidewalk—carried out their intentions dressed as service-utility men.  
This all had been yesterday, and Peter had sent a wire that morning telling the Professor when to meet them at the station. Eustace and Jill were on their way to save Narnia! Melanie sighed as she remembered her beloved Nast, and Lord Protector Samson, Martan, Taurin, Britta, Leif (_No, Leafy_, she corrected herself), Grammon the priest, lively-tongued Satchelle, faithful Brion, and-oh! They were so many! When Eustace had invited her to go with them, she had almost accepted, but the memory of her vision of Aslan was too vivid, too present, and she knew she could not.

And so, Melanie was there at the big, still house. The silence did not bother her, for she had lived her whole life that way, (except in Telmar), but it was the fact that nothing she saw-not even the fat, dusty bumblebees on the roses outside the window-moved at all. The very air Melanie breathed seemed loath to enter her lungs.

Melanie wandered her way into the Professor's small library. The room was small, but all four walls were lined with books, and the whole room fairly reeked of good, quality literature. Melanie scanned the shelves until a title caught her eye, and promptly settled down on the sofa before the fireplace to read.

It felt like only minutes later when Melanie stirred and opened her eyes. She had fallen asleep with the book in her lap! She must have slept for hours, for the house seemed very dark, a drastic change from the cool, grey morning sky. The clock on the mantel read half-past three o'clock. Why then would the house be so dark? Melanie looked out the window. The grey clouds of morning had billowed into black, heavy mounds, and already a drizzle was trickling down. Melanie absently wondered why the Professor and the others had not returned. The train station was nearly two hours away, over dirt roads. Perhaps the road washed out, and they needed to stay in town till the water cleared, Melanie reasoned. At any rate, it was getting more difficult to see, on account of the darkness. Melanie went around the house, lighting the kerosene lamps, the cottage lacking any electric amenities at all.

She had just turned on the lamps in the front hall, when a movement on the veranda made her jump. Someone stood outside! It occurred to Melanie that perhaps the person had been knocking for a while, but the deaf girl couldn't possibly know. How long had the person been waiting so vainly? Melanie placed a hand against the door. It was indeed vibrating with the force of the mysterious guest's pounding. Melanie quickly opened the door, and there on the rug stood none other than Susan!

The young woman's lips moved, but then she seemed to remember to whom she spoke.

_Come in_, Melanie signed, pulling the bedraggled girl out of the cold. She looked over Susan's shoulder, but the young woman was alone.

Susan's hat and coat were drenched, and her boots caked with mud. Obviously Susan had walked some distance in the rain. She looked so pitiful, like a nearly drowned kitten, Melanie's heart went out to her immediately. She brought Susan into the sitting room and gave her a warm blanket to wrap around herself. Nearby was a pad of paper and a pencil. Melanie took this and wrote _Where is Benton? _

She handed the pad and pencil to Susan. Melanie carefully watched her face, and noted the strange expression twisting Susan's features. Susan took the pencil and drew an arrow pointing down from _where is_ and wrote _everyone?_ next to it. Melanie understood she was asking where everyone else was.

_At the train station,_ Melanie wrote, and pointed back to her question.

After a very long pause that puzzled Melanie, Susan accepted the proffered pencil and crossed out _Benton._ Melanie stared at the mark; so Benton was gone. Melanie wondered where he went. A wet spot appeared suddenly on the pad, then another, and another. Melanie finally looked up at Susan. She was crying!

Melanie immediately dropped the pad and threw her arms around the bereaved young woman. Susan-wrought with the emotions of bottled-up pain-was overcome by this unreserved acceptance by the girl whom she had rejected so many times. The tears poured forth. Melanie wondered if Benton had hurt poor Susan in some way, but in prudence, she merely kept silent and comforted the girl.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_**Chapter 28**_

What had happened was this:

When Benton and Susan first arrived in France, they had immediately been joined by another group of Benton's friends, three ladies and two young gentlemen. Benton had—very proudly, Susan thought—introduced Susan to them, and the European tour commenced.

Though she had begun the vacation as "odd one out," Susan was pleasantly surprised to find that this group of friends welcomed her warmly. They were all very intellectual, but fun-loving, and Susan did not feel demeaned or patronized in any way. She felt valued and understood. Benton, especially, spent nearly all of his time with her, touring the museums, famous landmarks, or on boating trips.

So gratifying was all this attention, that when Susan caught a cold and had to stay back at the hotel, she steadily resisted Benton's insistence that he would stay back and wait for her.

"Don't forego your fun on my account, Ben," Susan said graciously. "Go on and enjoy yourself. I purposed long ago that I would not be so selfish as to force you away from your friends to pet me and coddle me." She grinned ruefully at him. "I am a nurse; I can look after myself."

Benton returned her smile with a beautiful one of his own. "Very well then," he said, "'physician, heal thyself!' and I'll try to manage while you're gone."

He left with the group, but was back again that evening. He visited her morning and evening for a week. Susan tried every remedy she could, but very soon, the cold turned into a terrible fever and headache. Susan groaned when she realized she would most likely spend the rest of the vacation recuperating in the hotel. Still, she had determined not to be selfish with Benton, and did her able best to enjoy the time they had together when he visited.

This was when she noticed a change in Benton's behavior. Gradually, Benton's visits decreased to only in the mornings, and then every other day, and the second week before the end of the vacation, Susan was mystified when Benton only visited her once in that whole week! She wasn't feeling particularly well that day, so she didn't think to question him about it, but when it occurred to her, she resolved to ask him about it on his next visit.

Benton's next visit never came. The next person Susan saw was one of the gentlemen. He was amiable enough, but he was not the one Susan desired to see.

"Where is Benton?" she asked the young man.

He shrugged. "Gone home, I guess," was his startling reply.

"Gone home!" Susan cried, "but I was to go with him! He said he booked passage for two!"

Her company nodded, "So he did; Charlotte went with him."

Susan quickly forgot her fever. Now her face burned with indignation. Charlotte! She was the mousy one, always at the back of the group, never speaking much. So Benton had traded Susan for her! "And I suppose he's left me to fend for myself?" she demanded angrily.

Her visitor grinned and pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. "Hardly! Northwyn's not that cold. He got you passage on another ship. She sails tomorrow. He hoped you'd be well enough by then."

Susan took the envelope but did not open it. She leaned back and moaned.

"Now, see here," the young man cried, standing up awkwardly, "I'm only the messenger, and now I've delivered my message—"

"Oh, go away!" Susan snapped. The unwelcome visitor betook himself from the room. There can be no sense in remaining where you aren't wanted!

Susan opened the envelope after he left, and there indeed was a receipt of passage on a ship for England. There also in the envelope was a note from Benton. She read it, but after hearing the truth, the glossy, buttery phrases Benton penned, saying how much he "missed her company," and how he was "forced to sail home without her," (_How tactful he doesn't mention the extra passenger that should have been me!_ Susan thought), but he had "done what he could to ensure she would get home safely," and "hoped she would feel better soon," and he "couldn't wait to see her beautiful face again,"-all these were meaningless platitudes of infidelity.

His charm had diminished in poor Susan's eyes, and the glamour of his friendship was sadly and brutally shattered. She angrily threw the false letter into the trash, and wept the bitter tears of the emotionally disillusioned. The only one she thought she loved (and loved her!) was gone; what recourse did she have? She had all but disowned her family, and demeaned her siblings; Susan finally realized how terrible she had been.

All during the voyage back to England, she berated herself as she felt she ought, with how wicked she was, what a terrible sister she had been, and how she didn't deserve to be smiled on by anyone she knew.

Once the ship came into port, however, her emotions had quieted somewhat, and her sensible side had resumed function, if severely impeded function! This sensible side told her that of course she couldn't really know if they would accept her back, but at least she might try facing them and clearing her conscience, so that even if they did reject her, at least it would be just, and she could bear it.

But alas! Melanie was the only person there at the cottage, and it would do no good to confess to her! The worst Susan had ever done to Melanie was to merely ignore her, and to a girl who had been living her life on the wrong side of a cold shoulder, this would hardly merit an apology! Susan, if she truly intended to follow through with her plan, found herself compelled to wait until either the storm stopped (which did not look possible until the next day), or the family returned.

At this point, Melanie ceased rubbing Susan's back consolingly and turned the young woman's face toward herself.

_Come into the kitchen and have something to eat,_ she signed.

Susan shook her head. _I should go,_ she signed in reply, but Melanie was adamant. The young girl grabbed Susan's hands with a grin, fairly pulling her into the great, cozy kitchen. Melanie sat Susan at the table and immediately began poking into cupboards and the refrigerating unit. In these she found the ham from the previous night's dinner, and some fruit salad. Taking a measure of flour, eggs, milk, and the ham, she mixed these together and baked it, resulting in a ham-and-eggs casserole of sorts. This she happily served to Susan, taking some for herself only after the older girl did.

Susan could not help but laugh at the deaf girl's hospitality. Poor, innocent Melanie! Susan ate her fill, and Melanie washed the dishes in the sink. Thunder crashed outside, reminding Susan why she was at the house. Susan was seized with sudden doubts and dread, and she decided abruptly that she would rather leave now in the rain than face her family. Melanie's back was turned; now would be the perfect opportunity.

Susan left the room. She had just picked up her hat and coat when something caught the hem of her skirt. She looked back to see Melanie's confused, accusing eyes staring back at her.

_Where are you going? _The deaf girl signed.

Not desirous to explain to Melanie the true reason, Susan merely signed, _I'm going to go meet the others._

Melanie did not respond by signing, she simply took Susan's hat and coat away and hung them back on the coat-rack. _They probably stayed in town to wait out the storm, _Melanie informed Susan. _You must stay here until they return._

Susan, at this command, felt a little of her old, playful nature resurface as she saluted Melanie in the manner of a soldier. Melanie grinned, enjoying the joke, and placed one hand on her hip as she wagged a finger menacingly at Susan. The two ladies ascended the stairs, where Melanie led Susan to an unused guest room. She gave Susan one of Aunt Polly's nightgowns to wear and left, bidding her guest goodnight.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_**Chapter 29**_

Susan, dressing by candlelight, had just donned the billowy nightgown when a knock sounded at the door. Susan took the candle with her to answer it.

She could not see much of his face in the dim light, but she knew it was a messenger when he said, "Telegram for Susan Pevensie." Wondering how on earth he could have made it out to the cottage on such a night, Susan accepted the telegram.

A wild fancy occurred to her as she closed the door. Perhaps it was from Benton! There was no name on it. It was a very short message; impossibly short to be from Benton. Besides, the time of dispatch was earlier that morning. How would he know Susan would be way out in the cottage? Susan chided herself. Benton did not care for her any more; he ought to be no further concern of hers, and anyway, what would he write?

Susan, candle still in hand, read the telegram:

"TRAIN CRASH-STOP-WHOLE-STATION-BURNED-TO-GROUND-STOP-NO-SURVIVORS-STOP."

She gasped. She paled. She screamed, "_NO!"_

Melanie! She had to tell Melanie! No wait! What was she thinking! Surely she had misread it! Susan forced her frantic heart to calm down as she read each syllable carefully. Oh _no!_ It was true!

Susan's heart clutched wildly, and her stomach seemed intent on choking her by jumping into her throat. Susan felt ill; the room seemed to disappear. She couldn't see, couldn't think. Somehow she managed to reel her way to the stairs and begin crawling up them. "_Melanie_!" Good heavens! That banshee howl was hers? Somewhere amid the aching emptiness robbing Susan of all her thoughts, it occurred to her that she no longer held the candle . . .

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Melanie jerked out of a restful slumber to a violent shaking. Who? What?  
_Susan!_ Something troubled the young woman. How Melanie wished she could hear what Susan screamed! For indeed, by the shape of her mouth, and the force of her breath, Melanie knew she screamed about something. But what on earth could have Susan so troubled?  
Melanie could only look on in fright until Susan finally calmed down enough to begin signing. Even then, she was so agitated that many of her signs were muddled. In the waving, shaking hands, Melanie saw the signs for _Peter _and _Edmund_. Had they returned and told Susan she was unwelcome? Impossible! But she had to be sure—  
_Returned? _Melanie signed.  
Susan shook her head. More muddled signs, then Melanie saw _train_ and _crash._ Oh dear!  
_They are injured?_ Melanie inquired.  
The relief she felt when Susan shook her head disappeared when the young woman signed, _They are dead._  
No! _What about the others?_ Melanie asked, _Are they returning tomorrow?_  
Susan shook her head again. _Melanie, they are all dead. Everyone is gone; we will never see them again._  
For the first time in her English life, Melanie actually yelled. She couldn't hear it, of course, but Susan looked up in surprise when the deaf-mute girl emitted an angry, harsh bark-like sound. Melanie whacked the bed with her pillow in an attempt to vent her frustration. Peter! Edmund! Lucy! Professor Kirke! Aunt Polly! They were the only people in the whole world who had ever been kind to her after Lucasta! And now they were all dead! Why?  
_Can you be sure of this?_ She signed to Susan.  
Susan tearfully nodded. _Telegram,_ she signed, and looked around for it, but she could not find it to show Melanie. She must have dropped it on her tipsy climb up the stairs. She soon forgot it as Melanie pushed past her and ran out of the room, sobbing silently.  
Susan, too, felt the rush of energy leave her as a fresh wave of reality hit her. It was as if her mind and heart had suddenly frozen over, leaving her with only a few thoughts and feelings.  
"They are gone," she whispered to herself, "I'll never see them again, and the last time I saw—oh! The last time I saw them was at graduation, and I didn't even speak to them! Oh, I am the worst person in the world! Any punishment I get, I thoroughly deserve!"  
Susan sniffed, coughed, and rubbed her eyes as something stung them. What was it? She recognized the scent. Smoke! What was burning?  
Susan threw open the bedroom door and screamed. The whole ground floor was ablaze! Not until that moment did Susan recall the candle she had held when she first received the telegram. _She,_ Susan, had started the fire! It was all her fault! Where was Melanie?  
"Melanie!" Susan screamed, then berated herself. Foolish Susan! What was the use in screaming for a deaf girl?  
_CRASH!_  
The floor to Susan's left collapsed. The stairs just to her right blaze brightly, and Susan knew it was only a matter of time before the fire would cross the hall and consume the room Susan now occupied. Already, the other bedrooms were smoking and crackling.  
This was it; this was The End. Susan Pevensie would be burned alive. "Oh, God!" Susan gasped, crumpling to her knees. She trembled, she quaked with fear at her impending doom. "Oh, God! GOD!" Quite suddenly, she began hearing her voice as if it came from someone else. "Oh Aslan!" Susan's Voice wailed. "Oh Aslan, forgive me! Peter! Edmund! Lucy! Please forgive me! I'm so sorry! Aslan! Save me, Aslan! Don't let me die!"  
"Susan!"  
Susan ceased her cries when she heard someone call her name. Who was it?  
"Susan!"  
She did not recognize the voice at all. "Who is there?" Susan shrieked, still frantic at the flames, "Where are you?"  
"Susan! Look to your right; there's still a path of unburned wood to where I am! Follow my voice quickly, before it all burns away!"  
The voice indeed came from Susan's right. She squinted through the smoke. There indeed, between the flames, was a narrow path of wood. "I'm coming!" she cried, and stepped out of the room and into the hall.  
The flames made it unbearably hot, and the smoke made it difficult to see. It was all Susan could do to keep her eyes focused on the hall in front of her feet at each step. She kept her arms folded around her and prayed her sleeves wouldn't catch fire. She was almost to the end of the hall, two steps more—  
With a crack and a groan, the hall behind her suddenly gave way. No longer supported, the floor she was standing on bent down, and Susan nearly slid into the inferno below. She screamed and grabbed the section of floor, her frantic fingers digging into the floorboards. Her hands were hot and sweaty. Susan could feel her grip slipping.

Just then, a girl appeared at the part of the hall still supported. Susan was so blinded by the fire that she couldn't see the girl's face. "I'm here," the strange girl said. She bent down and grabbed Susan's hands at the wrist, giving Susan the leverage she needed to help hoist herself back onto steadier wood. The girl helped Susan stand, but did not let go of her hand, instead leading her into the room behind her. "It's mostly stone in here, so it will not burn so quickly."  
The room the girls went into was very dark after the brightness of the fire. Flames had only just begun to penetrate the far walls, but the floor was still intact. Susan immediately went to the tall bay windows standing open to the night sky, allowing the hot air and smoke to escape. She breathed the clean air deeply. "Will anyone come to our rescue, do you think?"  
The mysterious rescuer shook her head. "No; this cottage is so far out in the country that by the time anyone even saw the smoke it would be too late." She sighed, and in that small sound, Susan heard something familiar that caused her to peer closely at the face before her in the dim light of the flames.  
She gasped and nearly fell out the window. "_Melanie!"_  
The girl—Melanie indeed—smiled. "Of course, Susan."  
Poor Susan didn't know what to think. "But-but-but," she spluttered, "you—you can _hear! _And you can _talk!"_  
Melanie nodded with a shrug. "Aslan has allowed it, I suppose. You _did _ask him to save you, didn't you?"  
"Well, yes, I suppose I did, but . . . would he really save me again, after doing it once already, and after I've rejected him so many times?"  
Melanie chuckled; in hearing her speak, Susan realized the comfort of a kind voice. "Well, you could have died out there; I would say he's in the process of saving you already."  
"But . . ." This revelation blew Susan away; it wasn't right! It made no sense! "But I'm not _worthy_!" she cried.  
Melanie smiled as she heard those same words she used when she first experienced Aslan's forgiveness. "Susan," she gently reproved, "don't you think the worthiness of the recipient should be the decision of the Giver? Let me ask you something: what did you do the first time that made you any more worthy than you are now?"  
"Well, I—I . . ."  
Melanie's eyes sparkled, "_Once a queen in Narnia, always a queen in Narnia_. You've forgotten that, Susan."  
For one moment—one _glorious _moment!—Susan had a faint glimpse at hope. She almost felt that she really could believe—  
Just then, the roof suddenly caved in, and the girls were now trapped in the bay window by a huge bonfire of burning rafters. The moment was over, and Susan's sensible side squashed any hope she had.  
"I'm going to die!" she moaned, "I'm too terrible, too _wicked_! We are finished! There is no way out!"  
Melanie grabbed her shoulder. "Susan! Look there!" She pointed out the window.  
In the light of the fire behind her, Susan could see all the way to the bottom of the hill on which the cottage stood, a dizzying fifty-foot drop from the second story window in which she sat.  
"It's _Aslan!"_ Melanie cried, and the old hope was back again in Susan's heart, albeit considerably weakened.

Her heart twisted sadly as she saw only the grassy slope. "I cannot see him!" she cried, "I'm doomed!"

"Susan! He is there! He will accept you!"

"But how can he? How is it possible? I've been so terrible!"

"Have you listened to anything I've said? _Aslan is ready to forgive!"_

An intense relief she did not understand washed over Susan. Tears poured from her eyes as she begged, "What must I do to be forgiven?"

"You've already done half of it. You know that what you have done is wrong."

"Oh, so awful!"

"Now is no different than before. Only believe, and put your trust in the Lion!"

_CRASH! _More burning wood fell. "How does that save me from the fire?" Susan cried over the roar of the fire.

Melanie looked out the window again. Susan did too, and for one fleeting moment, Susan thought she could make out a shadow on the grass.

"He says we must jump to him! Do you believe he will catch you?"

"What?" Susan shrieked, "That's crazy! How will we survive?"

"Susan! He can do it!" Melanie grabbed her hand, "I don't want to leave you! _Do you believe?"_

Somehow, Susan found herself standing along with Melanie on the window's ledge. She clutched at the sill beside her. "I . . . I can't do it!" she gasped, "It's too high! I'm not worthy!"

"Susan! Belief is a choice! Do you believe? Will you jump?"

Through the blinding despair and wretched remorse, Susan discovered within herself the intense longing to _believe,_ and more than that, to _know what she believed. _She channeled this desire and let go of the sill.

"I believe!" she said firmly for the first time in nearly ten years, "_I believe in Aslan!"_

"Then let's _jump!"_ And as Melanie said the last word, both ladies pushed off the window.

They were floating, falling, and Susan's heart filled with joy as she looked and saw the Great Lion. He _was _there! The ground came up fast beneath them, and the world snuffed out in instant blackness…

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_**Chapter 30**_

_All around was inky black . . . It was smotheringly hot . . . oh no! Was this . . . hell? It wasn't supposed to be like __**that**_ _. . . was it? Surely not . . . Yet she could feel all around her a pricking, and she knew if it wasn't so dark she would be able to see the hideous pitchforks and the nightmarish demons holding them . . . Aslan hadn't forgiven her after all . . . she was receiving her punishment . . . what right had she, after all, to expect—_

"You can open your eyes now, Susan."

A voice whispering in her ear brought Susan fully to her senses. It dawned on her that—far from being engulfed in darkness—her eyes were truly shut tightly. She opened them to behold forgiving sunlight beaming gently through stalks of hay surrounding her . . . and Melanie. So they had survived together! But—"Where are we?" Susan wondered, unconsciously matching Melanie's whisper.

"In a haystack," Melanie whispered back with a mischievous grin.

Susan rolled her eyes. "Well, _obviously, _silly, but where is the haystack?"

"I'm not—"

At that moment, a strange, muffled sound erupted from outside the haystack.

"What was that?" Susan asked fearfully.

"I'll found out," and so saying, Melanie wriggled free of the golden straw—right under the nose of "A _horse!_" she cried in surprise.

The poor animal wheeled back with a whinnied, "Good heavens!" and another voice cried out, "Hey now!" behind him.

Melanie gasped. It was a Talking Horse! Edmund said there were Talking Animals in Narnia, and all the Narnians treated them like people. "I'm very sorry," she apologized to the Horse.

"I should say you ought to be!" it blustered at her, gathering its wounded dignity and stalking away.

Just behind the horse (having been thrown off when Melanie surprised it), a man struggled to his feet.

"I'm very sorry, sir," Melanie apologized to him, "I didn't mean to frighten your horse."

The man brushed the grass and hay off his sleeves with a smile. "That's all right, no harm do—" He finally glanced at Melanie's face and appeared so shocked that he nearly fell over again. "_Melanie?" _he gasped.

Melanie looked closely at this man who seemed to know her: a strong, handsome face, golden hair and a short beard. There was something vaguely familiar about his face that Melanie could not place until he said, "Melanie, _it's me_." He made a motion with his hands, and in that simple movement, Melanie knew this man and felt faint. She grabbed his arm, not only to steady herself, but also to assure herself of the reality of the situation.

"Pe . . . Pe—p-p-_Peter!"_ she gasped, "How—What—Why—I . . . we thought you were dead!" She glanced over the kingly garments he wore. "How grand you look now!"

"Hey, Pete! What's this Harold says about girls popping out of haystacks?"

With that lusty question, (to the wonderment and elation of Melanie!), around the haystack came Edmund! Close behind him were Lucy, Eustace, Jill, even the Professor and Aunt Polly!

"How is this possible?" Melanie cried out of sheer joy, feeling as if she could not embrace her old friends soon enough. "We thought you were all dead, but you're here!"

Peter grinned, still the same young man (if a bit wiser-looking with his beard), "And so we are, as are you."

Melanie looked at Peter strangely. "I am . . . what?"

"You're dead," Eustace told her, as matter-of-factly as he would have said, "You're a girl." He continued, "You see, this looks like the old Narnia, but really, that Old Narnia was only a copy or a shadow of this Narnia, the Real Narnia, and it will last forever and we—because we believed in Aslan—will live here forever."

Melanie was saved from having to decipher this jumble of information by the recollection of a certain someone she had left in the haystack. "Oh!" she cried, "You'll all very much want to know whom I've brought with me!" She ran back to the mound of straw. "Come on out and say hello!" she cried to the person inside.

"I don't think I shall!" came the muffled reply.

Not to be deterred, Melanie reached in and grabbed the stubborn individual. "Don't be such a goose!" she reproved her friend, "come on!"

Reluctantly, sheepishly, Melanie's mysterious companion left the secrecy of the haystack and stood shamefaced before everyone.

"_Susan!" _Lucy squealed. She was the first to run forward and throw her arms around her penitent sister. Everyone followed soon after, and Susan, far from being rejected as she expected, soon found herself at the center of a very loving, very sincere embrace.

She laughed and wept at the same time. "You don't think ill of me, then, for how spiteful I've been to you all?"

"Of course not!" Lucy cried. "And even if we didn't want to, the fact that you're here means that Aslan has forgiven you, so we ought to forgive you as well! You are our sister, after all!"

The hug broke, and Susan said, "Well, to be sure, I don't know how he could ever forgive one so wretched as I."

"Do you not, Child?" a low, melodious voice asked, and Susan turned to face the Great Lion himself.

"Oh Aslan!" she fell at his feet, "I am so wicked, _so_ undeserving of your forgiveness . . ."

"Yet I give it all the more, Child. You are bought with my life. Would I let such a one perish?"

Susan mustered all her courage and said, "I am sorry for my lack of faith, Aslan."

Aslan bowed his great head and drew his tongue across her forehead in a Lion's kiss. "Rise, Queen Susan; you are forgiven. Enjoy the reward I have waited so long to give you!"

Susan stood, finally free from guilt and shame. Lucy sidled up to her and wrapped her arm around Susan's waist. "Let me take you to meet everyone!"

"And now!" Aslan continued in a stronger voice, "Melanie, come here!"

Melanie approached the Lion and stood before him. "You have made me known before Lords and Kings, and have performed each task I gave you well and fully. As you have acknowledged me, so shall I acknowledge you!" Then Aslan threw back his great golden head and roared, "Well done, my faithful steward! Enjoy the reward I have prepared for you!"

Melanie looked and caught her breath. It seemed in an instant, all of Nast—indeed, all Telmar—spread out before her like a gigantic map. Many people streamed from it.

"How wonderful!" she gasped.

"Melanie!" someone called.

Melanie looked toward the voice and cried, "Taurin!"

Everyone watched as she embraced a Telmarine with light brown hair and fair skin. Standing next to the young man were two more Telmarines and a young woman.

Melanie greeted the first man, "Lord Fausberg!"

"Well met, Lady Melanie," the man replied.

Taurin beckoned to the other two. "Melanie, may I introduce my wife, Pollah, and my son, Melonni."

Pollah immediately embraced Melanie. "How wonderful to finally meet you!"

Taurin grinned proudly, "And that's not all!"

A fair-haired, beautiful young woman took his arm laughingly, and Melanie recognized her immediately. "Britta!" she squealed.

"Oh Melanie!" the woman cried, throwing her arms around the young girl, "I always knew we would see each other again!"

"You knew the Lion too?" Melanie asked in surprise.

Britta shrugged. "Not specifically; I had heard of him and knew his ways, and I always sought to follow him. He met me just before I died, and brought me with him."

Melanie saw many other familiar faces. "But who are all these people?" she asked.

"Don't you know?" asked a young man coming up behind her. It was Martan! He gestured to the multitude of Telmarines greeting the Narnians and each other on the lawn. "This, Lady Melanie, is your legacy. Do you not remember how you made me write everything down, how you challenged me never to let Nast forget Aslan? Do you not recall those giving-delegations you so faithfully sent out? They became the first Telmarine missionaries, and spread the message of Aslan to the whole nation." He grinned with satisfaction. "Haven't I carried out your orders well, ma'am?"

Melanie gazed dazedly at the massive throng. "My legacy . . ." she murmured, and suddenly laughed for the sheer joy of it.

Peter, meanwhile, looked off in the distance and saw Susan, standing apart from everything with fear in her eyes.

"What's wrong, Su?" he asked.

Susan first glanced around to make sure no one was near, and then said, "I'm worried Peter; worried that . . . well, that this will all end, and I'll be—I don't know—sent back, or I'll do something wrong, and wake up from it somehow, and be all alone again."

She gasped as Aslan's shadow fell on her. "Have no cause for fear, child. Did I not say that the next time you saw me, it would be forever?

"Do you not remember the fire in that little cottage in the country? According to your world, you and Melanie perished in that fire. You are reckoned 'dead', for no one can enter here and be otherwise. Yet because of my sacrifice on the Stone Table so long ago, those who belong to me die only in the Shadowlands, but I make them new and bring them here to the New Narnia I have made where there is neither age nor sickness, nor evil, nor tears, nor death."

Hearing these comforting words spawned a growing excitement within Susan. "Then . . ." she tried to understand, "Then I may stay here forever? This is not the end?"

"No, Child, it is not The End. It is the Great Beginning, and it will last forever."

And though we have reached the end of our book, our friends have just begun the first chapter in the Great Book of Time, which extends forever and always into eternity!

THE VERY END


	26. Chapter 26: Alternate Ending

_**Chapter 27**_

One week later, Melanie stood on the porch of the small house, waving until the Professor pulled out of sight. She turned back to the empty house with a sigh.

How amazing the last week had been! She only hoped Eustace and Jill could reach Tirian in time. If only she had been able to speak to the king!  
_Oh well, _the girl thought to herself, _at least I remembered the rings._  
It hadn't taken long for everyone to realize that—as much as every one of them wanted to go—Eustace and Jill were the only ones with a chance of going. But how were they to get there? The wardrobe was gone, and anyway, one couldn't just peek into all the cupboards and doors until one saw Narnia!  
Edmund, as he usually did, translated the whole discussion into signs to include Melanie.  
_What do you think? _He signed.  
It didn't take Melanie long to remember how she first got into Narnia. _There are the rings, _she signed in reply.  
Edmund, not understanding, repeated her reply to the others.  
"Rings?" the Professor cried suddenly. "Oh yes! The rings! Do you mean she's found them?"  
Edmund translated the Professor's question, and Melanie nodded. _Found them when I first went to Telmar._  
"Can you use the rings to get to Narnia?" Peter asked.  
The Professor shrugged, "I don't see why not; when I used them, they only brought Polly and I as far as the Wood-Between-the-Worlds, but I'm sure if Aslan wants us—or Eustace and Jill—to get to Narnia, he could make it happen. He always has."  
Everyone nodded at the wisdom of this, and Edmund said, "Well, that takes care of how to get to Narnia; now the question becomes, how to get the rings."  
Jill shook her head. "It's no use Scrubb an I going, because there's a good chance we might not make it back in time for school, and there's sure to be a row if that happened."  
Edmund looked up suddenly, "Say! Why don't Peter and I go; Peter knows his way around the house, and he could find where they were buried. We could meet Eustace and Jill on their way to school, hand off the rings, and of course the adventure in Narnia will take no time at all!"  
All those present agreed this was a capital plan, and it was enacted the day after. Peter and Edmund went to London, and—in order not to attract attention as they prodded around the sidewalk—carried out their intentions dressed as service-utility men.

This all had been yesterday, and Peter had sent a wire that morning telling the Professor when to meet them at the station. Eustace and Jill were on their way to save Narnia! Melanie sighed as she remembered her beloved Nast, and Lord Protector Samson, Martan, Taurin, Britta, Leif (_No, Leafy_, she corrected herself), Grammon the priest, lively-tongued Satchelle, faithful Brion, and-oh! They were so many! When Eustace had invited her to go with them, she had almost accepted, but the memory of her vision of Aslan was too vivid, too present, and she knew she could not.

And so, Melanie was there at the big, still house. The silence did not bother her, for she had lived her whole life that way, (except in Telmar), but it was the fact that nothing she saw-not even the fat, dusty bumblebees on the roses outside the window-moved at all. The very air Melanie breathed seemed loath to enter her lungs.

Melanie wandered her way into the Professor's small library. The room was small, but all four walls were lined with books, and the whole room fairly reeked of good, quality literature. Melanie scanned the shelves until a title caught her eye, and promptly settled down on the sofa before the fireplace to read.

It felt like only minutes later when Melanie stirred and opened her eyes. She had fallen asleep with the book in her lap! She must have slept for hours, for the house seemed very dark, a drastic change from the cool, grey morning sky. The clock on the mantel read half-past three o'clock. Why then would the house be so dark? Melanie looked out the window. The grey clouds of morning had billowed into black, heavy mounds, and already a drizzle was trickling down. Melanie absently wondered why the Professor and the others had not returned. The train station was nearly two hours away, over dirt roads. Perhaps the road washed out, and they needed to stay in town till the weather cleared, Melanie reasoned. At any rate, it was getting more difficult to see on account of the darkness. Melanie went around the house, lighting the kerosene lamps, the cottage lacking any electric amenities at all.

She had just turned on the lamps in the front hall, when a movement on the veranda made her jump. Someone stood outside! It occurred to Melanie that perhaps the person had been knocking for a while, but the deaf girl couldn't possibly know. How long had the person been waiting so vainly? Melanie placed a hand against the door. It was indeed vibrating with the force of the mysterious guest's pounding.

Melanie lit a candle and brought it with her to answer it.

She could not see much of his face in the dim light, but she knew it was a messenger when he handed her a small envelope. She nodded and shut the door. Wondering how on earth he could have made it out to the cottage on such a night, Melanie opened the telegram.

There was no name on it. It was a very short message. The time of dispatch was earlier that morning. Melanie held the candle close to read the printed words.

"TRAIN CRASH-STOP-WHOLE-STATION-BURNED-TO-GROUND-STOP-NO-SURVIVORS-STOP."

She gasped. She paled. Her hands went numb; telegram and candle both tumbled unseen as Melanie ran upstairs.

Soundlessly she wept as tears poured from her eyes and down her cheeks. How could they have died? Why did they die? They were the seven kindest people Melanie had ever known: the Professor, Aunt Polly, Peter, Edmund, Lucy, Eustace, and Jill—and now she would never see them again!

In the hall at the top of the stairs stood a small table with a vase of flowers, and above that hung a portrait of the Professor sitting in his armchair with his pipe in his hand. On either side of the large portrait were smaller ones of Aunt Polly and the four Pevensies. Passionately, Melanie flung herself at the table and swept the vase off, kneeling against it to weep into her arms. Her thoughts swirled in her head as if to choke her; she felt faint. Melanie sank to the floor as a sudden rush of anger came upon her.

For the first time in her English life, Melanie yelled. She couldn't hear it, of course, but in making that noise she felt some of the pressure leave her heart. She yelled again, this time wailing long and loud. She didn't care what sort of sound it made; everyone who cared about her was dead!

Melanie ignored the passing of time as she wept. She could have remained there in a heap on the floor if she had not smelled that smoke.

Melanie lifted her tear-clouded eyes to behold the entire entryway brightly ablaze! She stood as the stairway collapsed in a pile of charred wood. For a moment she wondered what could have caught fire, then she remembered the candle and the telegram. So it was _her _fault! _She _had started the fire! Of course! It had always been her fault, all her life.

Despondently, Melanie ran through the halls, trying to escape the approaching flames, but it seemed like everywhere she went, the fire followed. Either every room was burnt through already or the fire was beginning to creep through the floorboards. Every room, that is, except one.

At the far end of the house was one room that hardly anybody ever went to; Professor Kirke wasn't even sure the room was open. Open or not, it seemed the only room untouched by the fire. Melanie ran to it, with the fire eating away at the floor behind her.

_Oh please!_ She thought, _Oh please let it be open!_ She placed her hand on the old, dull knob and pulled.  
Nothing happened! Melanie pushed, but the door did not budge. _No! _she thought desperately. As the fire crept ever closer, the deaf girl threw her body at the door. Still it did not move. _Please! _She begged in her mind, _Please, Aslan! Let the door open! Save me, Aslan!_  
A sudden warm gust of air and a roar greeted her. Melanie opened her mouth and screamed.  
"Aaah-lann!" She could hear herself! "Athh-lan!" she shrieked again, trying desperately to say it right, "Athlan! Atslan!" A rumbling groan and a crash interrupted her, and suddenly the floor beneath her gave way completely, its supports having burnt through.  
"_ASLAN! HELP ME!" _Melanie screamed, saved from an infernal death by her relentless grip on the doorknob. "_ASLAN! ASLAN! ASLAN! PLEASE SAVE—"_  
Quite unexpectedly, the door swept inward, dragging Melanie with it. She dropped from the door and landed on the floor of a dark room. She felt wooden boards beneath her; they were warm. The fire would be in there soon. Melanie crept toward the wall, and when she neared the large bay window, drew her hand back sharply. The warm wood had given way to cold, hard stone. She would be relatively safe, then!  
"Safe from what, though?" Melanie asked herself, "There's no hope of my being rescued. No one will see the fire." Her heart reminded her of the cry she had made, and the reason she could now hear and speak, even in England. "No," she told herself, "Aslan will save me; he _must!_"  
The fire was eating away at the doorway, and the old fear crept back into Melanie's heart. Where was Aslan, anyway? How could he get to England?  
Suddenly, a heap of burning rafters fell right next to Melanie, blazing brightly. She was now completely surrounded by fire. Without even thinking, Melanie stood on the wide sill of the window, threw out her hands and yelled,  
"_ASLAN!"_

"I am here, Child!" Melanie looked down at the sound of his gentle roar. There he was, the Great Lion himself, standing below the window in the grass.  
"Aslan!" Melanie cried, overjoyed, yet terrified at the same time, "Save me!"  
"You must jump, My Child," Aslan replied.  
"What?" Melanie shrieked, as more pieces of the house crashed around her.  
"Jump from the window; I will catch you."  
Melanie anxiously shook her head, staring wildly at the sheer fifty-foot drop, "Oh Aslan! I can't! It's too high! How can I be sure?"  
Aslan wagged his head, "If you depend on your feelings, you can never be sure of anyone else. Trust in me, Child; I will do what I have said I will do."  
Melanie sighed. Abruptly, she made up her mind, "All right; I will jump." And before her mind could convince her otherwise, Melanie let go of the windowsill and threw herself off the ledge. She fell…and fell….and fell…

The ground came up fast beneath her, and she felt nothing as the world snuffed out in instant blackness…

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_**Chapter 28**_

_Falling…falling...falling…_

Suddenly, Melanie was not falling, but tumbling over and over in a mess and confusion of—

A haystack?

Melanie wriggled free of the golden straw—right under the nose of "A _horse!_" she cried in surprise.

The poor animal wheeled back with a whinnied, "Good heavens!" and another voice cried out, "Hey now!" behind him.

Melanie gasped. It was a Talking Horse! Edmund said there were Talking Animals in Narnia, and all the Narnians treated them like people. "I'm very sorry," she apologized to the Horse.

"I should say you ought to be!" it blustered at her, gathering its wounded dignity and stalking away.

Just behind the horse (having been thrown off when Melanie surprised it), a man struggled to his feet.

"I'm very sorry, sir," Melanie apologized to him, "I didn't mean to frighten your horse."

The man brushed the grass and hay off his sleeves with a smile. "That's all right, no harm do—" He finally glanced at Melanie's face and appeared so shocked that he nearly fell over again. "_Melanie?" _he gasped.

Melanie looked closely at this man who seemed to know her: a strong, handsome face, golden hair and a short beard. There was something vaguely familiar about his face that Melanie could not place until he said, "Melanie, _it's me_." He made a motion with his hands, and in that simple movement, Melanie knew this man and felt faint. She grabbed his arm, not only to steady herself, but also to assure herself of the reality of the situation.

"Pe . . . Pe—p-p-_Peter!"_ she gasped, "How—What—Why—I . . . The telegram! The telegram said you were dead!" She glanced over the kingly garments he wore. "How grand you look now!"

"Hey, Pete! What's this Harold says about girls popping out of haystacks?"

With that lusty question, (to the wonderment and elation of Melanie!), around the haystack came Edmund! Close behind him were Lucy, Eustace, Jill, even the Professor and Aunt Polly!

"How is this possible?" Melanie cried out of sheer joy, feeling as if she could not embrace her old friends soon enough. "I thought you were all dead, but you're here!"

Peter grinned, still the same young man (if a bit wiser-looking with his beard), "And so we are dead, as are you."

Melanie looked at Peter strangely. "I am . . . what?"

"You're dead," Eustace told her, as matter-of-factly as he would have said, "You're a girl." He continued, "You see, this looks like the old Narnia, but really, that Old Narnia was only a copy or a shadow of this Narnia, the Real Narnia, and it will last forever and we—because we believed in Aslan—will live here forever."

Melanie was saved from having to decipher this jumble of words by the approach of the Lion himself.

"Aslan!" she cried happily, throwing herself at his feet, "You caught me after all," she said.

He bent down and kissed her, "Of course; did I not give you My word?"

"And now!" Aslan continued in a stronger voice, "Rise, Lady Melanie!"

Melanie stood before Aslan as he continued, "You have made Me known before Lords and Kings, and have performed each task I gave you well and fully. As you have acknowledged Me, so shall I acknowledge you!" Then Aslan threw back his great golden head and roared, "Well done, My faithful steward! Enjoy the reward I have prepared for you!"

Melanie looked and caught her breath. It seemed in an instant, all of Nast—indeed, all Telmar—spread out before her like a gigantic map. Many people streamed from it.

"How wonderful!" she gasped.

"Melanie!" someone called.

Melanie looked toward the voice and cried, "Taurin!"

Everyone watched as she embraced a Telmarine with light brown hair and fair skin. Standing next to the young man were two more Telmarines and a young woman.

Melanie greeted the first man, "Lord Fausberg!"

"Well met, Lady Melanie," the man replied.

Taurin beckoned to the other two. "Melanie, may I introduce my wife, Pollah, and my son, Melonni."

Pollah immediately embraced Melanie. "How wonderful to finally meet you!"

Taurin grinned proudly, "And that's not all!"

A fair-haired, beautiful young woman took his arm laughingly, and Melanie recognized her immediately. "Britta!" she squealed.

"Oh Melanie!" the woman cried, throwing her arms around the young girl, "I always knew we would see each other again!"

"You knew the Lion too?" Melanie asked in surprise.

Britta shrugged. "Not specifically; I had heard of him and knew his ways, and I always sought to follow him. He met me just before I died, and brought me with him."

Melanie saw many other familiar faces. "But who are all these people?" she asked.

"Don't you know?" asked a young man coming up behind her. It was Martan! He gestured to the multitude of Telmarines greeting the Narnians and each other on the lawn. "This, Lady Melanie, is your legacy. Do you not remember how you made me write everything down, how you challenged me never to let Nast forget Aslan? Do you not recall those giving-delegations you so faithfully sent out? They became the first Telmarine missionaries, and spread the message of Aslan to the whole nation." He grinned with satisfaction. "Haven't I carried out your orders well, ma'am?"

Melanie gazed dazedly at the massive throng. "My legacy . . ." she murmured, and suddenly laughed for the sheer joy of it. But then she stopped, and looked a bit sad.

"What's wrong?" Martan asked.

Melanie shook her head and vainly tried to check the sobs in her throat, "I—what if this is all a dream? What if I'm to wake up and everyone is gone, and I must go on? It is too good to be true!"

"That can never happen, Child," Aslan said, coming up behind her.

"What do you mean?" Melanie asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Do you not remember the fire in that little cottage in the country? According to your world, you perished in that fire. You are reckoned 'dead', for no one can enter here and be otherwise. Yet because of My sacrifice on the Stone Table so long ago, those who belong to Me die only in the Shadowlands, but I make them new and bring them here to the New Narnia I have made where there is neither age nor sickness, nor evil, nor tears, nor death."

Hearing these comforting words spawned a growing excitement within Melanie. "Then . . ." she tried to understand, "Then I may stay here forever? This is not the end?"

"No, Child, it is not The End. It is the Great Beginning, and it will last forever."

And though we have reached the end of our book, our friends have just begun the first chapter in the Great Book of Time, which extends forever and always into eternity!

THE VERY END


End file.
